


Transience

by moonsaero



Category: K.A.R.D (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Attempted Murder, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Murder, Organized Crime, Police, Psychological Torture, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 56,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9810893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsaero/pseuds/moonsaero
Summary: When his girlfriend is kidnapped, Matthew is set upon finding her—even if it means finding the elusive criminal mastermind J.Seph first.





	1. 1

 

 

 

[ ](http://s349.photobucket.com/user/moonsaero/media/transience%20cover%20art_zpsasnpboqd.jpg.html)

 

 

 

 

 

“Why exactly are we here again?”

 

“Why exactly am I explaining again?” Somin retorted. She rolled her eyes when Matthew pouted, but she smiled nonetheless. “We went to college together, remember?”

 

“Not good enough,” Matthew sighed. “There has to be a better reason.”

 

Somin hit him lightly with her purse, and then took his hand. “Let’s find one inside, then—it’s cold out here.”

 

As soon as the door opened, they were greeted immediately by the blasting music, and then by a tall figure that quickly moved aside to let them in. Lee Hongbin wasn’t one for heartfelt greetings, and commented, “I thought you two weren’t gonna show.”

 

“We weren’t—” Matthew started, only to be cut off when Somin elbowed him hard in the side.

 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Somin said quickly, throwing a glare at Matthew. “You took the time to invite us.”

 

Hongbin smiled at Somin, and she felt Matthew stiffen beside her. Before she could respond to either of them, another person entered the room. Heo Youngji had a way of breaking the tension, no matter the situation. “You two made it after all! Holy crap, it’s been a while, Somin!”

 

Somin’s eyes lit up. “Youngji! Congrats on the job! And wow, you look beautiful!” she said, pulling the older girl into a hug.

 

After they pulled apart, Youngji turned to Matthew. “Glad you could make it too. How’s work? Catch anyone new?” she asked, her smile mischievous.

 

At that, Matthew laughed, and Somin was grateful for how easygoing Youngji was. “That’s not how it works, Youngji . . . but it’s going fine.”

 

As they caught up on what happened in the years after college, Youngji led them into the interior of the house, where the many guests were already talking and eating, immersed in the party. When new guests arrived, Hongbin and Youngji excused themselves to welcome them in, leaving Matthew and Somin alone. Immediately, Somin turned on him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can’t be that serious, Matt.”

 

“I can’t help it,” Matthew said stubbornly. “I don’t like him.”

 

“He was our _classmate_.”

 

“He _hurt you_.”

 

Somin huffed, frustrated. “Even _I’m_ over it, so why are you still not letting it go? We were all young, we were all idiots—”

 

“Being an idiot isn’t an excuse for driving drunk.” Matthew’s voice was low, hard, and Somin knew it was futile. Especially since he was now in the police force, he had seen too many instances of when drunk driving went horribly wrong, tainting his perception of Hongbin forever.

 

With a heavy sigh, she tried again, differently. “Okay, you don’t have to like him . . . Can you just _accept_ him, just this one night?” Matthew was about to protest, but she spoke first. “For Youngji?”

 

He flattened his lips, and after a few seconds nodded. “Fine. Just today.”

 

“Thank you,” Somin said with a smile, and then she pulled him down by his shirt to peck him lightly on the cheek. “I need bigger heels,” she said, frowning, and Matthew laughed as he pulled her to him by her waist.

 

“I actually like how short you are.”

 

Somin gaped in mock outrage. “I’m not short, I’m average. _You’re_ the one who’s freakishly tall, we went over this.”

 

“Okay, sure, _I’m_ too tall,” he said to appease her, but he failed in suppressing his laughter.

 

Somin tried elbowing him again, but he held her too close for her to gather enough force. “I swear, you’re gonna pay when we get back—oh, _shit_.”

 

His smile faded. “What is it?”

 

She slapped a hand to her forehead. “We forgot the gift!”

 

Matthew relaxed when he realized it wasn’t something serious. “We can bring it another time,” he said lightly.

 

Somin shook her head. “No, it’s just in the car. I’ll be right back!”

 

Before she could leave, though, Matthew grabbed her wrist. “I’ll go get—” He cut himself off when he saw Hongbin approaching, and Somin looked uneasily between the two.

 

“Hey,” Hongbin said when he was close enough. “Can we . . . can we talk?” He looked directly at Matthew, but he was visibly nervous.

 

Somin used that as a cue to excuse herself. “I’ll be right back,” she said, using her other hand to free herself from Matthew’s grip. She turned, and dug through her purse for the keys as she walked away. After she walked out of the room, Matthew turned his attention to Hongbin.

 

“What do you want?” he asked, and then he remembered his deal with Somin. “To talk about,” he added.

 

Hongbin shifted his weight from one foot to another, averting his gaze from Matthew. “I know you still hold me accountable for that accident,” he said, getting straight to the point, and as unwilling as Matthew was to talk to him, he appreciated Hongbin’s directness.

 

“You’re right,” Matthew said coolly.

 

“I know I’ve said this before, but I will never stop being sorry about that. I . . . I was stupid—I fucked up, and I fully regret what I did.” He looked up, but Matthew gave no reaction. “I don’t expect you to suddenly change your view of me, but at least today, can we act like we get along? I . . . Youngji was really looking forward to today.”

 

 _Damn him_ , Matthew thought. Hating Hongbin was easy, but Youngji had no relation to that accident, and she had a kind heart. She deserved better than Hongbin, but Matthew wasn’t about to tell her that to her face. Quickly pushing those thoughts from his head, he simply nodded. “This won’t last longer than today, though,” Matthew warned, but Hongbin smiled thankfully nonetheless.

 

Once Hongbin left, Matthew realized that Somin hadn’t come back yet. _How long does it take to get to the car?_ His brow furrowed, he headed toward the front door to check, a pang of unease hitting him. The air outside was cold, but Matthew didn’t care enough to go back and get a jacket. It would only take a second to check where— _she wasn’t there_.

 

His eyes scanned the street in front of the house, and though he spotted their car, the lights of the car were off. There was no one near it either, no one walking toward the house. He felt his stomach churn unpleasantly, a nauseous feeling settling in his gut. He walked toward the car, hyperaware of his surroundings, and when he got closer he saw something near the passenger door that made his stomach drop.

 

The small, light gray purse was unmistakable. It was Somin’s.

 

Matthew’s training was the only thing that kept his mind focused. He quickly made his way to the car, and testing the handle, he realized that it had never been unlocked. He then walked around to the other side of the car and froze.

 

A man, seemingly in his early to mid thirties, was sitting slumped against the side of the car and bleeding heavily from the abdomen. The blood had spread all over the middle of his shirt, and there were streaks of what Matthew assumed was blood along the side of the car. Dropping to his knees, Matthew checked for the man’s breathing, and then tried to find a pulse.

 

“Fuck,” he breathed out when he realized the man was dead. His training told him to call backup— _now_ —but then he remembered why he had come outside in the first place.

 

“Somin?” he called out, his volume at a normal speaking level, and when there was no response he called out again, louder. “Somin!”

 

“Matthew?” a voice called, and Matthew whipped around, but it wasn’t Somin—he should have recognized the voice. It was Youngji, standing on the steps in front of her house, and Matthew vaguely recalled that he hadn’t closed the door behind him. “Is everything okay?”

 

His voice came out steady, betraying none of the panic he felt inside. “I can’t find Somin.”

 

Youngji walked down the stairs onto the sidewalk. “Did she come out here? Are you sure she didn’t come back inside?”

 

Matthew ran a hand through his hair—his hands were shaking. “She didn’t—she would’ve come to me, if she came back.” When he saw Youngji coming closer, he remembered the man at his feet and quickly held up his hands to stop her. “Youngji, a man has been killed here. Call the police.” His voice was not as friendly as before; he had assumed a more professional tone, since it made it easier to deal with this. Youngji halted, her eyes widening almost comically, and then she nodded, disappearing into the house.

 

Matthew glanced around again, and then he saw something in the middle of the street a little ways away. As he approached it, he recognized the phone as Somin’s, and when he picked it up he noticed that the screen was cracked. It was still unlocked, though, in the phone app—it hadn’t been long, then, since her auto-lock feature was set to five minutes. In fact, with the time that had passed since he came outside, it would mean that she had still been there a minute before he came out.

 

A muffled sound caught his attention, and he turned his head toward the source. There was a small street two houses down that Matthew knew opened into a cul-de-sac, and it had no houses around it—people usually held picnics in the grass around it, enjoying the view of the lake. Uneasily, he walked toward that street. The sight that greeted him when he turned the corner made him freeze.

 

Somin was there, but she wasn’t alone. A man had his hand clamped over her mouth, his features concealed with a black baseball cap and facemask. He was gripping her by her hair, dragging her with him to the edge of the cul-de-sac, where a black car was parked.

 

“Somin,” Matthew whispered, unable to believe his eyes. It was a mistake—the man had heard him, and he spun around, turning Somin with him. Somin’s eyes widened in recognition, and she struggled harder, trying to make more noise.

 

Before Matthew could make a move, the man shoved Somin to the ground. However, he didn’t make a beeline for the car like Matthew expected—he reached behind him and pulled something out, and then grabbed Somin by the hair again. He brought his hand around her neck, and the object glinted in the faint light of the streetlamps.

 

“Don’t move closer,” the man said, his voice rough. “Or she dies.”

 

His own helplessness infuriating, Matthew slowly held his hands up and stood still. He could only watch as the man walked backward, pulling Somin back with him.

 

And then his heart broke as realization dawned on Somin’s face. “M-Matthew?” she called out, her voice sounding strangled. “Matthew, ple—” she cried out when the man yanked on her hair, and she shut her eyes tightly. Her face was shining as they passed a streetlamp, wet with tears, and Matthew clenched his hands into fists, tightly, resisting the urge to bring them down lest the man should hurt her.

 

He could only watch as the man shoved Somin into the car first, forcing her to climb over the center console to get to the passenger seat.

 

He could only watch as he drove away haphazardly with one hand, his other hand keeping the knife to her neck the whole time, and he could swear that despite the facemask, the man was smiling as he passed Matthew on the way out of the cul-de-sac. The car screeched as he speeded away, taking Somin with him.

 

Matthew lowered his hands slowly, and then ungracefully fell to his knees, breathing hard. The air was still cold, but he doubted that was the reason why he was trembling.

 

In the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens, growing louder as they approached.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we need more kard fics, guys - why are there literally only four other fics i'm-


	2. 2

The interrogation process was surprisingly easy to go through, and Matthew knew that the numb fog occupying his consciousness played a large role in that. It was easier when there were no emotions involved, when it was a simple recollection of facts; it became almost mechanical, a process that could be repeated at will as many times as needed for them to get the facts straight.

 

Which was necessary at the moment, since the interrogator, a middle-aged man with graying hair, seemed to be very bad at recording facts.

 

The interrogator took another sip of coffee, set the mug down, and looked back up at Matthew. “With a knife?” he asked, typing quickly on his laptop, the clicks of the keyboard clearly distinguishable with the absence of ambient noise in the room.

 

“With a knife,” Matthew repeated, keeping his eyes focused on the logo of the laptop. It ran through his mind again—Somin being shoved to the ground, one hand reaching up to touch her head where the man had been pulling her hair, only to be dragged back up and—

 

“He had hidden it in his back pocket?”

 

“Maybe, I couldn’t see, but when he brought his hand back to the front he had a knife.”

 

“I see . . . and there was no escape attempt, once she was in the car?”

 

Matthew felt the urge to make a fist, but he purposefully relaxed his hands under the table, spreading the fingers wide apart. “He had a knife on her neck the whole time. She couldn’t even try.”

 

“Surely she—”

 

“No,” Matthew said, finally looking away from the laptop logo and into the man’s eyes. He enunciated each word slowly. “His arm was held _around_ her neck. A near chokehold, but with a knife to her throat. There was no way.”

 

The interrogator pursed his lips. “I see.” He quickly finished typing something and closed his laptop. “That’s all the information we need for now, Mr. Kim. Thank you for your time.” With a sharp nod, he picked up his things and left the room.

 

Matthew remained sitting, though, and soon after the door opened again.

 

“How are you doing, Mr. Kim?” asked a female voice. Looking up and realizing who it was, Matthew started to stand up. “No, no, sit,” said Director Park Gyuri, the planning director of their investigation team. She took a seat where the interrogator was sitting earlier and clasped her hands on the table.

 

“Fine, Director Park,” Matthew said, his voice level. There was no use going into the intricacies of that answer, and he certainly was _not_ about to have a heart-to-heart moment with the director.

 

Director Park looked at Matthew thoughtfully, as if she saw fully through that answer (and Matthew was sure she could). “You’re handling everything all right?”

 

“Yeah.” Seeing as she was still unconvinced, Matthew took a breath and continued. “It’s . . . it’s hard. But she’ll be fine, we’ll find her soon.”

 

She nodded, and then cleared her throat. “About that. You see, due to your . . . involvement, as it is, with Somin, we don’t think it’s appropriate that you’re put on this case. In fact—”

 

“What?” Matthew asked, incredulous. If he wasn’t on the case, who would be? How would he let someone else be in charge of finding Somin? His involvement made him all the more determined—he wouldn’t let any more harm come to her—

 

_By only standing by, watching, like you did while she was taken, right?_

 

Matthew quickly pushed that thought away. “Director Park, I hope you’ll excuse me, but I think it’s only normal that I’d be involved with this case. Because of my involvement wi—”

 

“Because of your involvement,” Director Park interrupted, “you’ll be less objective in your evaluation of choices, which is a risk we can’t afford—especially when a person’s life is on the line.”

 

Matthew opened his mouth, about to protest, but the Director shook her head. “I do hope you understand, Mr. Kim, because the decision has already been made.” She stood up, and Matthew realized this was probably why she had come to talk to him—not just to check on his state of mind. “You can also have the next week off, to take your mind off things.”

 

Leaning back in his chair, Matthew let out a sigh. “That’s not optional, is it?”

 

“Not really.” Director Park smiled, a hint of pity in her eyes. “Have a good day, Mr. Kim.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

The throbbing pain in her head slowly made Somin recognize she was awake. She tried to stretch out, not understanding why her alarm didn’t wake her, when she realized that she couldn’t move her hands.

 

Her eyes snapped open, only to squeeze shut again when she realized that it was too bright—it seemed to be the early morning, and the sun was clearly visible through the window—

 

The _window_. Of the _car_.

 

Suddenly, the events of the night before rushed back to Somin in harsh flashes.

 

_Walking outside, heading toward the car, and then investigating the noise she heard on the other side—_

_Seeing someone next to the car, dying—_

_The man had grabbed her, before she could run—_

_She threw her purse, wishing he would let her go, praying someone would come—_

_Matthew did come, but—_

 

There was a bump in the road, and Somin was jolted upward. Her joints ached, and she finally looked down at herself. Her seatbelt was strapped on, and her hands were tied behind her, which explained the soreness in her shoulders and arms. And her _head_ —her head felt like it was on fire, particularly one spot to the side, and Somin could vaguely recall why. Her neck also hurt, though, but she couldn’t even reach up to check what could have been the cause with her hands bound as they were.

 

A gruff cough next to her made her go still. “Finally up?” She heard him searching around with one hand, and then grumbling something too low for her to hear, he glanced around them on the freeway. Somin looked around too, and realized that it was almost empty but for a few lone cars, and even those were few and far between. He quickly pushed a button near the steering wheel, and then he removed his hands from the steering wheel, opening the storage compartment of the center console.

 

Somin quickly opened her mouth to speak— _he wasn’t looking at the road_ —but her throat was too dry; her voice caught, and she started coughing violently. It didn’t take long for the man to find whatever he was looking for, though, and Somin only saw a flash of metal as he reached over and yanked her closer. She didn’t even have the chance to cry out as he stabbed something into her neck, and after a few seconds her eyelids felt heavier.

 

Slowly, her vision went black, the pain subsiding.

 

 

 

 

 

The next time Somin was conscious, it wasn’t as bright.

 

She was alone in the car, but her hands were still bound and her seatbelt was still fastened. Now she was also tied to the seat itself with a rope around her middle, so there was no way she could accidentally unbuckle herself. There were shades covering the windows of the car, making the interior even darker. Her head still hurt, and she felt a wave of nausea threaten to overtake her when she moved too quickly.

 

Somin was about to fall back asleep, the pain in her head too much, when she heard the approaching footsteps. Suddenly, harsh white light flooded the car as the door on her side was opened, and she could make out the outline of the man through her squinted eyes.

 

“We’re headin’ inside, missy,” he said, laughing ominously, and Somin tried in vain to move away from him. But her limbs felt too heavy, so her movements were too weak and sluggish to be effective. The man easily undid the rope tying her to the seat and then, tightly gripping one arm, forcefully pulled her out of the car.

 

She cried out then, her whole side too sore and stiff from being in the same position for so long.

 

“Quit your fucking whining,” he said, shoving her a bit harder to emphasize his point. “Or I swear to god I’ll drag you the whole damn way.”

 

Somin bit her lip hard to keep her mouth shut, and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyelids. She looked around in an effort to distract herself—anything to keep the tears at bay. They were in a parking garage, she realized quickly, and he seemed to be taking them toward an elevator to the side. When they stopped to wait for the elevator, she noticed that his facemask was off.

 

He seemed to be in his early to mid thirties at the most. His face was wide, and he had small, wide-set eyes and a light mustache. When he caught her looking, he smiled—a few teeth were missing. “Like what you see?”

 

Somin looked away quickly, not wanting to aggravate him or continue that line of discussion. The elevator dinged and opened a moment later.

 

The man cackled with laughter, and he shoved her none too gently into the elevator. Somin bit her tongue to keep quiet, and turning around, she tightly gripped the handrail along the back wall of the elevator. After the man selected a floor, he turned to face Somin, simultaneously covering the view of the panel with his large frame. The digital display for the floor numbers seemed to be broken, leaving Somin in the dark as to how long this elevator ride would take. “Ah, I hope he lets me keep you for a while, wouldn’t that be fun?”

 

She resisted the urge to shake her head, but she still shuddered involuntarily. He caught that, and his smile disappeared. “You should be grateful I only want to fuck you, you whore. Look at that dress.” He continued to say something inaudible, still staring at her, and she looked down so that she wouldn’t be called out for looking at him confused; her dress . . . was long-sleeved, and came down to her knees. Either way, it felt disgusting now, because Somin couldn’t even remember how long she had been in it; she didn’t even want to think about how she _looked_.

 

Thankfully, the elevator came to a stop soon, but there was no automated voice announcing that they had arrived, so there was no way for Somin to know what floor they were on. The man grabbed her by the same shoulder again, and this time Somin was prepared for the pain, already biting down on her lip.

 

The elevator had opened into a well-lit hallway that resembled that of an apartment complex or hotel building, but without the numerous doors lining the hall. It was so monotonous and she felt so disoriented that she soon lost track of how long they had been walking, focusing mostly on staying upright and not tripping. Some time later—minutes or hours, Somin couldn’t tell—they reached a large set of double doors, and no sooner had they stopped in front of them than the doors were opened. Two large men dressed in dark suits then escorted them to another room, but since Somin was fighting the urge to sleep the whole way, she could barely focus on her surroundings.

 

At some point, the man roughly shook Somin fully awake, and he gave her a pointed glare before one of the guys in suits opened another door. This time, the two guys stayed outside, and the door was closed behind them.

 

The man walked forward slowly, his grip leaving Somin. Though she was relieved, she didn’t realize how much she had been relying on him for balance, and she collapsed onto the floor with a short gasp. She struggled to push herself up into a sitting position, but she couldn’t move from her side.

 

“Sir, I brought her, as you requested.” Somin looked up and saw that he had almost reached the desk that was the main feature of the room. Someone was sitting at the desk, but her view was blocked by the man’s large frame.

 

“A _girl_?” The voice was sharp, cutting through the otherwise silent room. “You said you brought something of value.”

 

“I-I thought she’d be important,” he replied, but his voice had gotten smaller. Somin tried to move to the side, to see who was sitting at the desk, but her bound hands were not helpful.

 

“What use would I have for _that_?” came the reply; it was laced with disgust, and Somin felt a chill go through her. What would become of her if she were useless . . . ?

 

“S-sir, I never—I thought—I couldn’t leave her there, the boy seemed to be an officer—”

 

“What?” There was the sound of a chair sliding backward—the person must’ve stood up.

 

“Yeah, the guy, he had that look, so I thought it was better to take ‘er . . . and she’d seen me, she’d seen the hit, so I couldn’t let ‘er go.”

 

Somin was still on her side, and her eyes had closed with the effort it was taking to sit up. She slowly opened her eyes when she heard the sound of footsteps, and she saw the glossy black dress shoes approaching. She was reluctant to look up, but she didn’t have to—the person crouched down next to her and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

 

He was really young—that was the first thought that popped into Somin’s head. A few years older than her, most likely, but definitely still in his twenties. He had straight black hair that almost reached his eyes—his eyes, which were staring at her, his gaze piercing. He shifted her chin to the side, observing her, and then let go. He remained in his crouching position.

 

“Who was the guy?” he asked, and it took Somin a second to comprehend that the question was directed to her.

 

“W-what?” Her voice was croaky, her throat too dry.

 

He sighed, and when he spoke there was a hint of impatience in his voice. “The guy, who was the guy that saw you being taken?” When Somin took too long, he grabbed her by the chin again. “His _name_ , dammit!”

 

“Matthew,” she choked out, her heart hammering in her chest. “M-Matthew, his name is Matthew.” She didn’t know how he understood her, what with her hoarse voice, but he pulled back and stood up, thinking.

 

“Matthew . . .” he repeated, mostly to himself. “Matthew Kim, by any chance?”

 

Somin’s eyes widened, and that seemed to be confirmation enough for him.

 

“I see . . . good job, Lee.” He turned to look at the man, who wore a satisfied smile on his face. “You’re dismissed. Leave the girl.”

 

The man frowned slightly. “But . . . sir, do I get a reward?” There was a pause, and then he continued, “For bringing the girl. It seems like she’s valuable, right . . . ?”

 

The younger man nodded slowly. “Yes, you do deserve a reward, don’t you?”

 

And then there was a loud _bang_. Somin's ears were left ringing after the sound, and she felt more than heard the thud of something falling to the ground.

 

The man had fallen to the ground, and she could begin to make out a dark red puddle forming around his head.

 

Her hearing was fuzzy, the ringing still loud in her ears, but she vaguely heard the chuckle from behind the desk.

 

 

 

 


	3. 3

One week. Matthew had an entire week to kill before he’d be allowed back at the station, and even then he wasn’t on the case anyway, so there really was no point. But being at the station with at least _something_ to do would be better than the maddening _nothing_ that he had to keep him busy at home.

 

Home, which was the apartment he shared with Somin.

 

He had been careful to seal away any emotional reactions. The discipline instilled by training as well as the exposure to various gruesome crimes he had gotten as a member of the special investigations unit helped, allowing him to purposefully ignore the reminders of her all around their home—numerous shoes lining the entrance, a couple blankets on the couch for when she was too lazy to turn on the heat, the clutter on her half of the bathroom vanity. He wasn’t about to hide the reminders—she’d be back, so there was no point in that—but saying he didn’t glance at them for a second too long would be a lie.

 

Matthew knew his limits, though, so after spending the rest of that Sunday at the station finishing up with the eyewitness account he had to provide and filing the report on the man that had been killed by their car, he slept in for most of Monday. He didn’t think he would’ve bothered getting up if not for the nightmares—the same scene, over and over again.

 

He ended up cleaning most of the apartment over the course of Monday and Tuesday. Somin would’ve been proud.

 

It was Tuesday evening before Matthew bothered with the TV. Of course, he had been checking his phone constantly, waiting for any updates from the director or his team, but when he got nothing but support messages he became convinced that they had been warned against involving him in the case, _even though he was already involved because it was Somin after all_ —

 

His phone started vibrating again, and Matthew didn’t even have to glance at the caller ID to know it was Youngji. He had countless missed calls and probably even more messages from her, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Kindness through messages, he could deal with—the emotion didn’t usually translate well through text, so his walls remained undisturbed. But Youngji had a way with breaking down those walls, and Matthew wasn’t ready for that.

 

Tossing his phone to the side on the couch, Matthew flipped through a few more channels. He wasn’t one for dramas, and he didn’t feel like putting up with the antics of variety shows. Then again, a variety show would be good for taking his mind off things . . .

 

“—rumors of a murder _and_ a kidnapping.”

 

Matthew froze before he could change the channel. The news reporter was at the entrance of the community in which Youngji and Hongbin lived, pointing down the street; right before the point where the street turned out of view, the back of a police car was visible.

 

“The exact details are not yet known, but an investigation is underway. We do have exclusive sources, though, that came out with their accounts of what took place on this tragic night.”

 

His hand tightened on the remote, but Matthew forced himself to keep his breathing steady. He was used to this type of bullshit being aired during other investigations, but this was one was different. It was personal.

 

“One source said that the victim, a man in his thirties, was shouting for help when she was alerted about his presence. However, seeing the perpetrator still on the scene, she had fled for safety. Another source said that he had seen the victim at the party, and that he had stepped out for drinks but never came back. More will be revealed as the investigation continues, but until then, stay tuned for the latest—”

 

Matthew switched to another channel quickly, desperate for more news. It was mostly false—lies from supposed sources to get attention and more viewers, but it was more than what he was getting from the actual investigation, which was why he was leaning forward in his seat, anxiously tapping his foot.

 

“—the murder victim has not been identified—”

 

“—connections to gang activity—”

 

“—a victim? Or was this a target? Reports rev—”

 

“—kidnapping, however, has not been explained. Was this simply because the victim had seen the murder? Or were there additional motives involved? We’ll be back shortly with the latest report.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Matthew leaned back in the couch. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and then rubbed his hands against his temples.

 

“Fuck this,” he muttered after a moment, and he stood up, grabbing his wallet and keys to head to the gym.

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday was shaping up to be the same as the other days until about noon, when the apartment intercom chimed. Matthew reluctantly got off the couch to check the monitor—and did a double take when he recognized the long, brown hair and wide eyes framed by bangs.

 

As if she knew Matthew was checking, she waved at him through the screen.

 

When Matthew opened the door, Youngji all but barged into the apartment. “How many calls have you answered? None. _None_. What makes you think that’s okay?” She made a sound of frustration as she removed her shoes. “The audacity that you have is _un_ believable, I swear . . . have you even been eating? How are you cooking for yourself?”

 

Only when she disappeared into the interior of the apartment did Matthew notice Hongbin still standing outside. Despite his initial desire to just shut the door, Matthew moved aside a bit, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

 

Hongbin gave him a small but genuine smile, an appreciation for Matthew’s willingness to try. “How . . . how are you holding up?” he asked slowly, carefully.

 

Matthew’s answer was automatic. “Fine.” Then he paused. “I’m getting by, I guess.” He started leading them to the living room.

 

“Kicked off the case?”

 

Matthew glanced to the side at Hongbin, surprised. “Y-yeah, actually, how’d you . . .”

 

“Forensics,” Hongbin said, pointing to himself.

 

Matthew nodded, remembering Hongbin’s line of work. The topic never interested him before, since it pertained to Hongbin, but suddenly it was all he could think about. “Did you—”

 

He was interrupted by a shriek from the living room. “Is this _takeout_?!”

 

Hongbin started laughing, and it was hard for Matthew to keep the smile off his face as the reached the living room, where Youngji was staring at the center table in borderline horror.

 

“I’m eating?” Matthew offered, but he was silenced by the glare Youngji gave him.

 

“You’re so lucky I’m here,” she said, shaking her head, and Matthew realized she was carrying two bags of what seemed like groceries. “We’re staying here for dinner, in case you were wondering. I’m also making said dinner, so get those takeout boxes out of my sight or you’re getting kicked out of your own apartment.”

 

“Gotcha,” Matthew said, quickly moving to do what she ordered. Youngji was sweet, yes, but she was terrifying when giving out orders. Or when confronted with takeout.

 

After Matthew cleaned up the living room, he sat with Hongbin at the island in the center of the kitchen, having been banned by Youngji from touching anything after he had almost burned some food in the name of helping out.

 

“She hates when people try to help,” Hongbin said as they watched her move skillfully between stirring, chopping, and whatever else she was doing. “Even though I’m pretty sure I actually know what I’m—”

 

“I can hear you,” Youngji interrupted, not turning around from the stove.

 

“That was meant to be heard,” Hongbin retorted. “I can finally complain and have some support.” He glanced over at Matthew, as if to gauge his reaction, but Matthew only smiled.

 

“Excuse me?” Youngji said, her tone rising at the end, but the threat was greatly weakened by the way she was laughing heartily.

 

For the first time since Saturday night, Matthew felt relaxed.

 

 

 

 

 

The relaxation didn’t last, though Matthew couldn’t say he wasn’t glad that the director called him on Thursday morning, telling him to come in that day for work. He was shocked, yes, but the director hadn’t said anything about Somin, which she surely would have if there had been bad news.

 

The first person that greeted him when he reached his desk was Park Jaehyung. “Well don’t _you_ look well-fed,” he said, leaning against the side of the desk.

 

“Did you expect me to starve myself?” Matthew asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No, but your cooking knowledge lacks anything more than varieties of ramen, and you get tired of ramen easily, so . . . actually, yes, maybe I did.”

 

Matthew didn’t bother wasting time to roll his eyes. “Sure, Jae. Do you know where Director Park is?”

 

Jae let out his breath in a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Right. Because we’re at work. And we’re supposed to work, not socialize.” This time, Matthew did roll his eyes at his overdramatic friend.

 

Clearing his throat, Jae glanced through the window outside their unit’s planning room. “She just stepped out—I don’t think she was expecting you so soon to be honest. Knowing you, she shouldn’t have expected anything less, but . . .” He turned to Matthew with a questioning expression. “I thought you had a week ‘off’?” he asked, using air quotes.

 

“I thought so too,” Matthew said. “But I was called in this morning . . .”

 

Jae looked at Matthew for a long moment. “I don’t think we . . . we didn’t _find_ anything, if that’s what you were wondering.”

 

Matthew must have visibly reacted, because Jae quickly held up his hands in defense. “I just got here a bit earlier than you, so maybe I don’t know anything and you can just ignore me. That works too, ya know.”

 

“It’s fine, who knows why she called.” Matthew pulled the swivel chair a bit away from the desk so he could take a seat. “Better to be here than at home though.”

 

Jae nodded. “I’d say.”

 

Then, there were three light knocks on the door, and before either could respond the door opened. Matthew automatically stood up, expecting it to be Director Park, but was confused by the new face.

 

She had shoulder-length blonde hair and a round, somewhat heart-shaped face, but her eyes were distinct, making her gaze cold and sharp. She walked right up to Jae and plopped an overflowing manila folder in front of him. “Here are the files, see if you can find matches,” she said. Her voice was lower and huskier than Matthew had expected.

 

Jae scanned through the first few documents and then looked up to meet Matthew’s eyes, a look of understanding on his face. “It doesn’t hurt that I’m brilliant and all, but I think I know why Director Park called you in.” He tilted his head toward the blonde stranger. “This is Jeon Jiwoo, she’s the officer that was assigned to this case in your place.”

 

Matthew looked at the blonde in surprise, and Jae continued, this time directing his attention toward Jiwoo. “And this is Matthew Kim,” he said. “He’s the officer that specializes in these cases. It’s probably why the director called him back even though he’s personally involved.”

 

“What cases?” Matthew finally cut in, hating being kept out of the loop.

 

Jae seemed hesitant to answer, but the look on Matthew’s face must’ve been convincing—or scary—enough. “The cases on J.Seph. We think he’s involved in the backend of the murder, and that would probably link him to the kidnapping, too.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Somin was awake for a long time before she found the strength to actually get up. Then again, she couldn’t really tell the passage of time anymore—she had no idea what was in her system, and she was drifting in and out of what she hoped was simply sleep.

 

After what could have been hours but seemed to be mere minutes, Somin finally rolled onto her side, hissing in pain as her shoulder was pushed against the cold floor. Tile? Concrete? She couldn’t see too well in the dark, and her touch perception was far from reliable at the moment. It definitely took a couple more minutes before she was able to push herself up into a sitting position, and once she was seated she realized that her arms were no longer bound.

 

Immediately, one hand went to cup the side of her neck, and she gasped at the pain that brought about. “Holy . . .” She gingerly touched the tips of her fingers to the sore spot of her neck. It felt hot to the touch, and was definitely raised in a sort of bump, like after a mosquito bite. _A mosquito on what? Steroids?_ The bump was large, and while she could still bend her neck in that direction, it _hurt_.

 

A flash of anger sparked through her then, and she forced herself to stand up. She was off balance at first, almost falling right back down, but she happened to be right next to one of the walls of the room; she rested a hand against it to steady herself. There was a single door into and out of the room, and silently praying to gods of every religion, Somin slowly made her way to the door and tried the handle.

 

It wasn’t locked.

 

Somin almost cried of relief, and then the room outside, which was too bright to see at first, came into focus. It was seemingly a normal living room—no. No, it wasn’t a _normal_ living room, Somin realized quickly, a wave of dizziness making her sway unsteadily.

 

She was in a penthouse.

 

There was a large, luxurious couch in front of a TV that was probably wider than Somin was tall, and behind the couch there was a long kitchen island with bar stools set up. Rather than a wall, there were floor to ceiling windows spanning the entire room.

 

Somin staggered backward, the dimly lit room she had been in suddenly seeming more comforting in the face of this harshly bright, unknown territory.

 

Before she could move back into the room, a figure emerged from the hallway beside the bar setup. “I wouldn’t move too quickly if I were you,” he said, and Somin went still. He came to a stop next to the island and leaned against it. One hand was in the pocket of his suit, and the other hand was holding a champagne glass. “Lee should’ve considered your weight when he administered the tranquilizers—you’ll feel pretty fucked up for a few more hours at the least.”

 

Somin swallowed automatically out of nervousness, and it reminded her of her thirst. He seemed to notice. “Water?” He walked behind the bar, and setting his own champagne glass down, took another one out from a cupboard and poured a glass of what seemed like water. He held it out to Somin, inviting her to approach the bar.

 

She didn’t want to move—the fear felt suffocating, paralyzing—but her thirst had escalated at the sight of water right in front of her, and she felt like there was a sheet of sandpaper stuck down her throat. Hesitantly, Somin let her hand leave the doorframe she had been gripping and tried to take a step forward . . . only to almost trip, and her hands flew out to grab the doorframe again.

 

With a small sigh, he walked around the island toward Somin, and when he finally reached her, he held out his hand. “At least try for the sofa,” he said, smiling.

 

Somin repressed her instinct to recoil, and instead, with her eyes wide, she reluctantly accepted his hand and let him lead her to the sofa. She sat down, and the sofa was just so _soft_ that she felt herself sink into it, and the carpet under her feet was—

 

There was carpet under her feet.

 

She was _supposed_ to be wearing shoes.

 

Her heart thumping, she glanced down and realized that not only did she not have any shoes on, but also she was no longer in the same dress she was wearing earlier—instead, she was in a pair of white silk pajamas that seemed a few sizes too big for her; the sleeves completely covered her hands, and her toes only barely peeked out from the bottom of the pants.

 

She snapped her head around to look at the man, and he seemed amused. “Did you really think I’d let you into my home in the filthy state you were in? Let a man have some self-respect.” He offered the glass of water to her and waited until she managed to grasp it with her trembling hands before he let go.

 

Somin downed the entire glass in almost one gulp, and immediately she felt some of the itch in her throat diminish. This time when he reached his hand toward her, she did recoil, and then she froze, her eyes darting to gauge his reaction. He only laughed. “You’ll need more water than that,” he said lightly, and taking the glass, he walked back to fill it with more water.

 

To say Somin was surprised would be a gross understatement.

 

After she drank the entirety of the next glass, which was normal-sized rather than a narrow champagne glass, he pulled forward an ottoman that was near the coffee table and took a seat right in front of Somin.

 

“So, now that you’re more cognitively present, why don’t we introduce ourselves?”

 

There was a silent pause as Somin thought through her choices of action, and the man sighed. “I thought the tradition was ladies first, or am I mistaken?”

 

Almost instinctively, whether by the glint in his eye or the way he smiled while saying it, Somin knew that a situation in which he was mistaken would end badly for her.

 

“S-Somin.” She coughed lightly to clear her throat, but the water had definitely helped. “J-Jeon Somin.”

 

“That wasn’t too hard, but for future reference, I _hate_ repeating myself.”

 

She nodded. For Somin, his calmness was more terrifying than her vague memory of his impatience.

 

“My turn. I’m Kim Taehyung.” He paused. “Have you heard that name before?”

 

Somin certainly had, but it was a fairly common name. She didn’t dare say _yes_ , but she also didn’t think _no_ was the right answer. And by god, as his gaze pierced into her, did she want to avoid giving the wrong answer.

 

He—Taehyung—laughed. “Of course you have. But probably not about me . . . now, tell me, does the name J.Seph ring any bells?”

 

Somin froze.

 

“Judging by the rather unpleasant expression on your face, I assume that it does.”

 

She started to shake her head. There was no way, this had to be a nightmare, because if this was the same J.Seph that Matthew dealt with in his work—

 

“And logically, I’m going to assume that your knowledge comes from Matthew . . . am I wrong in thinking he’s your boyfriend?” He clapped his hands together, almost as if he were delighted by the fact. “What luck,” he said, leaning forward and in the process bringing himself very close to Somin. Somehow, she managed not to move, despite the way her heart was hammering in her chest and every fiber in her body was telling her to _run_ , to hell with the consequences.

 

Instead, she stammered out, “No—he—please don’t—”

 

“Somin, you have to relax,” said Taehyung, his voice still eerily smooth. He reached out and took one of Somin’s hands, and it took all of her willpower not to yank it away from him, though she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to anyway. “You’ll see each other again, I promise. And I don’t make such statements lightly.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i definitely did not expect such a dark/twisted/wtf-is-this-going-to-end-like fic to get so much attention already, especially since i'm so new to the site ... thank you all so much for reading ~


	4. 4

“Choi Jinhyung was already a suspect in another drug-related homicide.” Jiwoo walked to the other side of the board and tapped against the two pictures there—one of a normal, smiling man, and the other of the crime scene from Saturday.

 

Jae started shuffling through a new stack of files before sliding over on his swivel chair to pass a thin folder to Matthew. It contained pictures, some screenshots of blurry CCTV footage, and a typed up report, but Matthew didn’t care about the case that had already been solved.

 

“But how does he connect to J.Seph?” he asked, glancing from Jae to Jiwoo.

 

Jiwoo motioned to the file Matthew was holding. “A few months ago, he was working at Sangchul Medical.”

 

Matthew looked back down at the file with a new understanding. To the public, Sangchul Medical was a miracle—it put forth numerous life-saving medications for a generally affordable cost, rendering its profits average for a pharmaceutical company, and most of its funding actually came from large private donations. The largest donator, of course, was the businessman Park Seungjin, who their team had connected to J.Seph through multiple criminal confessions.

 

All of these criminals did somehow die before any of the information could go to trial, however, and the recordings of the first few statements they had gotten disappeared shortly afterward. Thereafter they had hidden the recordings and remained silent about their existence; Director Park had decided it was too much of a gamble to think their small group could overturn such an important person, let alone someone connected to J.Seph.

 

But they knew about the connection, even though they couldn’t do anything about it directly, and that seemed to be the identifier in this case.

 

“That’s why we think he had something to do with the murder,” Jae said. “The homicide Choi was involved in had to do with someone that didn’t pay up for the drugs, but we think this someone was never supposed to get these drugs in the first place.”

 

“So he was stealing and selling some of the company drugs for his own profit,” Matthew finished, and Jae nodded.

 

Matthew turned back to Jiwoo, but before he could ask anything about their leads on the kidnapping, someone burst through the door to the office room. His chocolate blond hair was a bit too long, the bangs beginning to cover his wide eyes. Kevin Woo looked like he had run a few miles, what with his disheveled hair and heavy panting. He barely noticed Matthew sitting there, and if he did he didn’t comment on it.

 

“Phone died, so couldn’t call,” he said, and then coughed a few times, his panting starting to slow. “They also kicked me out—I think I looked too much like a passerby, and I forgot my ID.”

 

“What happened?” Jiwoo demanded.

 

Kevin cleared his throat, getting his breathing under control. “They found a body in a car near the crime scene—the same car Matthew identified during the kidnapping.”

 

 

 

 

 

Usually it was Jae and Kevin that came out to get the initial forensic evidence, but Matthew had been unable to stay away from this one. Convincing Kevin to let him go instead hadn’t been hard—the victims they dealt with were sometimes left in horrific states, and Kevin, with his kind and cheery disposition, had a hard time flipping off his emotions to deal with them. The only reason he continued that task was because of his memory; he could accurately recreate the crime scene as a model in their office.

 

Matthew was glad he had come instead. The fact that the car was parked in the _exact_ location it had been during the kidnapping was not lost on him, and that observation begged to be scrutinized more, but Matthew couldn’t bring himself to focus on it yet. He was too torn between a perverse satisfaction that the sick bastard who had hurt Somin was dead and the more logical disappointment that their main lead and connection to J.Seph was now gone.

 

Then there was the implication of what happened to Somin and where she could be, but Matthew chose not to go down that dangerous line of thought.

 

He was helped by the way Jae jabbed an elbow into his ribs, nodding toward the medical examiner that had taken a step back from observing the body in the car. The driver’s side door had been fully opened to allow easier access, and the examiner had been there when Matthew and Jae had arrived. He had been given access to the body before it was moved to the lab for further testing, though based on what the other officers there had told them, it wouldn’t have mattered too much since the victim hadn’t even been shot in the car.

 

“Single shot to the head, no powder burns . . .” The voice was familiar, but his back was turned to them. “We’ll have to analyze any fracture lines in the skull for clues about the distance and velocity, and that can only be done in the lab . . . we'll have to call in the forensic anthropologist,” he said, and when he turned around Matthew didn’t know how to react. Typically, Hongbin’s presence would have only irritated him, but he somehow felt relieved that it was a familiar face.

 

Hongbin carefully pulled off his gloves and then took off his surgical mask. He dropped them into a plastic bag held by an assistant, who then took out his notepad again, writing down everything Hongbin was saying. “My guess, though, based on similar scenes in the past, is that the shooter was in the same room, and the victim was not expecting his fate. That would explain the lack of other injuries—there was never a struggle.”

 

That was when Hongbin looked past the assistant and saw Matthew and Jae standing at the edge of the police tape barring off the scene. A flash of recognition crossed his face, and he turned to walk toward them.

 

“You’re back on the case,” Hongbin commented when he reached the police tape. He ducked under it gracefully, and then gestured for his assistant to hand him the notepad.

 

Matthew glanced at Jae while Hongbin turned aside to take the notepad. Jae shook his head slightly, and the message was clear—no one else was to know about the connection to J.Seph. “Guess so,” Matthew said easily when Hongbin turned back.

 

Hongbin tore out the relevant page from the notepad and held it out to Matthew. “You might need this, then. I’ll get the body in the lab later, so I’ll be typing up a report anyway.”

 

Matthew nodded, glancing down at the messy but thorough notes of the assistant for a few seconds before folding the paper and stuffing it in his pocket.

 

“Any other thoughts about the victim?” Jae asked, craning his neck to get a better view of the crime scene.

 

Hongbin pursued his lips. “The evidence at the moment doesn’t lend itself to further conclusions.” Meaning any other thoughts he had were just that—nothing substantial that they could actually investigate.

 

“But you have other thoughts?” Matthew prodded, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

 

Hongbin let out a sigh. “I’ve seen my fair share of cases like this. Victim murdered, but evidence cleaned up and the body brought somewhere else. None were as . . . complicated,” he said, glancing pointedly at Matthew. “But they were usually related to small criminal organizations. Someone higher up got mad or suspicious—a clean way to tie loose ends. But the effort put into this one . . .” He shook his head. “Same place, same car. There was so much risk involved, especially since this area is still under surveillance.”

 

The information began to click into place for Matthew. “Too much risk,” he said slowly, “for a small organization.”

 

Hongbin nodded. “A  _small_ organization. But the rest of the clues are quite similar, to the point that I wouldn’t put it past a larger organization—one that had more connections, more influence, such that the risk of playing a game like this wouldn’t equate to much of a threat.”

 

Wording it the way he did, Hongbin had cast a new light on the scene; as a matter of fact, he had cast the whole crime in a new light. _Playing a game_.

 

It was at that moment that Matthew recognized the placement of the car for what it was—a taunt. Whoever had arranged this knew that while most would know about the general location and maybe even model of the car, only Matthew would recognize the exact placement of the car along the curb. This person would also have the resources and power to arrange such a risky move, as well as a personal vendetta against Matthew.

 

Despite the meager evidence and heavy hypothesizing, Matthew knew in his gut that there was only one such person.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

For the next few days, Somin was left alone in the penthouse, which only served to confuse her more. Sure, she had minimal experience being kidnapped and was far from being an authority on the matter, but she had a vague feeling that someone who was kidnapped, especially by the head of a large crime syndicate, was not typically left with such freedom.

 

It wasn’t like the penthouse offered many resources in terms of escape—the windows weren’t an option since this was the top floor, and a peek through the peephole of the entrance door had revealed two bulky men attentively standing guard. Not that she would’ve been able to unlock a door bolted from the outside anyway.

 

But there was an ample amount of food and drink, and upon further exploration Somin discovered that the closet in one of bedrooms was full of women’s clothing that appeared to be her size. She couldn’t find anything more harmful than a butter knife in the whole apartment.

 

The only access to the outside world came in the form of the TV, through which Somin figured out what day it was. To think that she had been kidnapped for almost a week was slightly off-putting, especially since she didn’t _feel_ kidnapped, however that was supposed to feel. Her main worries didn’t pertain to herself—she was more concerned about how her family and Matthew were reacting to everything. Did they think she was dead when she was, in fact, alive and well?

 

And Matthew, who had seen so many horrifying cases that told of what people could do to each other, and especially to a woman—what was going through his head?

 

Her family would be able to avoid thinking of such things since they generally were never exposed to them, but Matthew was another matter.

 

Being left alone with nothing but her thoughts was maddening, but she preferred it to the other alternatives she could think of.

 

Thursday morning, Somin was flipping through several TV channels again, having grown considerably accustomed to her solitary confinement. She decided to change to the news channel again, despite the at times infuriating lies they covered as actual news. Mostly it was entertaining in a dark way—Somin felt a twinge of hopelessness every time another bit of false information was revealed, knowing it was a step further from the truth and a step away from her being rescued. At least she wasn’t being treated as horrifically as some of the rumors suggested she was.

 

The news that day was not as sensationalistic, and Somin quickly realized it was because a new lead was only just found. The first few reports about the new leads were simply informative at best, too vague at worst, but the outright gossip came a bit later in the day, when people were more likely to tune into the evening news and news channels had had a good minute to conjure up thrilling hypotheses based on the limited information.

 

“A car was found at the same site as the murder, and it is presumably the same car used by the perpetrator. The irony is that it is none other than the perpetrator himself that was today found in the car, dead by a gunshot to the head.”

 

As the camera zoomed into the car from afar, Somin fumbled to catch the remote that she almost dropped with shock.

 

It wasn’t _presumably_ the same car—it was the same exact car. And the victim’s face was censored, but Somin knew without a doubt that it was the man that had taken her.

 

The man that Taehyung had killed.

 

A chill went through Somin, and she shakily held up the remote to turn off the TV. She didn’t need to see any more, didn’t _want_ to see any more.

 

If Taehyung had thought her useless, would that have been her fate?

 

No, she couldn’t afford to think like that now. She had to rely on herself to keep herself together, and thoughts like that would only break her apart.

 

Before she realized, she had fallen asleep on the couch, her thoughts a mess of what ifs.

 

 

 

 

 

It took Somin a second to identify what had woken her up, and when she did she froze.

 

There was the unmistakable sound of the door being unlocked, and she turned in time to see someone walk in that she’d naively thought she wouldn’t have to deal with for quite a while.

 

“I presume you’re doing well?” Taehyung asked, but his tone implied it was merely rhetorical, so Somin didn’t move, opting to carefully observe his movements.

 

He was dressed in a dark suit that Somin would’ve thought was black if not for the hints of blue visible because of the natural light through the window. It was well fitted and crisp, such that she would’ve expected it for a formal night out rather than a business meeting, or whatever Taehyung attended in his . . . line of work.

 

He disappeared down the hall that led to the bedrooms, and reappeared a few minutes later. Somin hadn’t moved. “I apologize for leaving you unattended, but you don’t seem to have had an issue with that,” he said, glancing at the TV. Somin suddenly wondered if there were hidden cameras around the penthouse.

 

“Anyway, you should take a shower and get ready. I picked out a dress and left it on the bed—I’m sure you know which room.”

 

At that, Somin furrowed her brow, thoroughly taken aback. “Sorry, get ready?”

 

Taehyung raised an eyebrow—Somin hadn’t stuttered in his presence, and she vaguely recognized that as a first. Maybe she had gotten a bit too comfortable these last few days, and Taehyung’s outwardly polite demeanor wasn’t helping. She still had to remember that he was a criminal—hell, he had killed a man in front of her during their first meeting.

 

“We’re heading out, and I’ll need you present as company.”

 

A dash of fear coursed through Somin then. Maybe it was some of Matthew’s typical paranoia that had rubbed off on her, but she was hesitant to think of what kind of company she was being taken as.

 

Taehyung seemed to realize where her thoughts were going. “You’ll only be with me, though that is a possibility if you choose not to cooperate.” It was disarming, how kindly he delivered the most ominous threats. “You have a little over an hour.”

 

Though she wanted to do nothing but scramble off the sofa and run to the bedroom, she didn’t want to appear like too much of a pushover—no matter how essential for her survival, that level of unquestioning obedience felt too demeaning. She stood up smoothly, and walked steadily toward the bedroom.

 

The dress was a deep navy that matched Taehyung’s suit, and it was a single piece that appeared from the front to be a top and a skirt. It was close fitting and simple, reaching a little past her knees, with minimal decoration save for the three buttons on either side of the skirt part. The top was a draped crossover blouse, but it was not at all loose and was fitted at the waist, where it merged with the skirt.

 

All in all, Somin had no idea what kind of event she was being dragged to.

 

There was some makeup set out on the dressing table, and since Somin wanted to avoid potentially angering Taehyung, she decided to apply some makeup to look formally dressed up.

 

She was now sure that this was anything but a conventional kidnapping case.

 

Somin was nearly done, just putting on a touch of the least striking lip-gloss color she could find, when the door to the bedroom opened. She whirled toward the door, eyes widening in surprise.

 

She had known there were no doors in the penthouse that could be locked from the inside, and only a few that could be locked from the outside. Still, she hadn’t expected such a sudden entrance, especially with the relative privacy she had gotten so far.

 

Taehyung looked up and down at her, carefully analyzing her appearance, and Somin resisted the urge to shudder when his eyes seemed to darken. He walked closer to her until he was less than a foot away, and Somin struggled to remain still since she had a feeling that moving away wouldn’t help. Lightly touching her chin, he turned her head from side to side slowly. “They’d pay quite a lot for you, though . . .” he trailed off, and Somin stiffened.

 

A few seconds later, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Be out in a few minutes—the traffic is pretty heavy.”

 

Somin barely had a chance to nod before he disappeared, leaving the door open behind him. She had half a mind to close the door before continuing, but quickly pushed the urge back. She couldn’t afford to be rebellious when her life was at stake.

 

 

 

 

 

True to Taehyung’s prediction, the traffic _was_ heavy, and Somin recounted more than one time during which they were at a complete standstill. Clawing more at her attention was the fact that she was now outside the penthouse for the first time in almost a week, and even more, she wasn’t bound or drugged like she was the last time she was in a car.

 

She _did_ try to open the car door handle, though, and quickly realized how annoying the child lock feature in cars was. She was grateful that her attempt had only served as amusement for Taehyung.

 

There was no attempt at small talk during the whole ride, with Taehyung typically on one phone call or another. The conversations were sometimes in English, sometimes in Chinese, but the matters being discussed were far beyond her understanding since she had only an elementary grasp of the languages. During some point, Somin must have fallen asleep again, because she was woken by a gentle shaking of her shoulder.

 

It was slightly alarming how easily she could fall asleep in the presence of a killer. It was also alarming how the _thought_ scared her more than the actual _action_.

 

The driver got out first, opening the door for Taehyung, and before she could move the driver was opening her door as well. She got out hesitantly, her heels not helping her balance, which was already affected by how nervous she felt.

 

It looked like a typically modern office building, the exterior full glass and reflecting the bright blue of the noon sky. Taehyung was at her side, then, and he offered his right arm, bent slightly at the elbow. Somin glanced between his arm and his face for a second before she cautiously linked her arm through, trying her best to avoid actually resting her arm on his. She gave up as she realized that she needed the support—she was a step away from losing her balance and falling flat on her face.

 

She had no idea what she was walking into, but she desperately hoped for Taehyung to continue this façade of kindness . . . regardless of how psychopathic his intentions might be.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this is so late but thANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT oh my gosh you're all so kind


	5. 5

Matthew barely looked up when the door to the office opened. “I thought you went home?”

 

“And miss any updates? No thank you.” Jae set down a mug of coffee next to Matthew, and he took a sip from his own. “Also Jiwoo told me to keep a tab on you. She doesn’t think it’s right that you’re back on the case.”

 

“Fuck what she thinks,” Matthew said, tossing the completed file onto his desk and grabbing a new one. “I’m the best one to be on this case. Who is this Jiwoo anyway?”

 

Jae sat down on Matthew’s desk, drumming his fingers against his mug. “I _believe_ she was some important person in another station . . . somewhere. But I could be wrong,” he added, taking another sip of coffee.

 

“That was helpful, truly. Thank you, Jae, for all of that.”

 

“Okay, fine,” Jae sighed, setting his mug down. “She was in another station, I forget where, and she used to work in a similar special investigations unit. I think theirs saw more violence, maybe ‘cause of the area?” He shrugged. “But they transferred her here initially once you were pulled off the case, since they thought she’d have comparable experience with the types of crimes . . . but turns out it was J.Seph-related so they had to put you back on anyway.”

 

“So why’s she not, you know, back there?” Matthew asked, gesturing with his pen.

 

Jae looked reluctant to answer. “We . . . we’ll need a backup for wh—if you snap.”

 

Matthew sighed, forcing down his initial response of frustration. It was a logical precaution, and even he wanted nothing more than the investigation to succeed and for Somin to be back. For everything to be back to the way it was.

 

He had been right; they should never have gone to Hongbin’s that night.

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually Jae had forced Matthew to head back home; though Matthew wanted to do nothing more than continue drowning himself in mindless busy work, Jae would hear none of it.

 

“You’re _actually_ so useless right now,” he’d said, reflexively ducking when Matthew feinted throwing one of the files at him. “Here’s some advice you should take seriously because it’s coming from me and I know better—just sleep on it, it’s been a long day.”

 

The apartment seemed colder than it did when he left for work that morning, most likely because Youngji and Hongbin had left as soon as he had gotten the call from the director. Matthew tossed his laptop bag onto the counter as he walked in, intending to sleep like Jae had suggested.

 

Then again, he never usually listened to Jae’s suggestions, as well intentioned as they were.

 

He didn’t know how long he had been going through all the news articles on his laptop, files be damned, searching for _any_ hint of a new development. It was easy to get lost in the process of clicking the next recommended link, and pretty soon, enveloped in the deafening silence of the apartment, Matthew felt himself doing exactly what he feared—breaking down.

 

It was quite lucky that the phone on the counter began ringing then to distract him, an unfamiliar ringtone filling up the otherwise silent apartment. Brow furrowed, Matthew got up from the couch to check who could be calling.

 

Reaching the counter, he realized that it actually wasn’t his phone that was ringing—it was a vaguely familiar phone, and the caller ID was “Yeobo” followed by a heart emoticon. Matthew had an idea of whose phone it could be when he answered.

 

He didn’t even get a chance to say hello, because the person on the other end had already started talking. “ _Now_ you get home? I thought my phone was gonna die before you—wait, what were you even doing till now? I thought you were off from work for a while?”

 

Matthew laughed. “Relax, Youngji. Something just came up . . . anyway, should I drop off your phone?”

 

Youngji sighed. “How insensitive do you think I am? It’s almost midnight, so I’ll just pick it up tomorrow.”

 

“That’s a long trip for just your phone . . . I’ll be heading to work anyway, I can just—”

 

“Really, it’s fine! Besides, I have a convention to head to tomorrow, so I’ll have to travel anyway,” Youngji said. “I can stop by the station on the way.”

 

Matthew could have just said good-bye after that, but he suddenly felt the need for some kind of conversation. Going back to the silence of the apartment didn’t exactly seem ideal. “A convention?” he asked, trying to continue the conversation.

 

Youngji didn’t seem to notice Matthew’s delay, and if she did then she went along with it. “Yeah, just a medical thing at Daejung Offices. They’ve developed a few new drugs, so tomorrow is kind of like a medical keynote, if that makes sense.”

 

“Yeah, I think I get it.” Matthew glanced at the clock again. “Anyway, it’s getting late, I should let you sleep before the convention,” he said, trying to keep the reluctance out of his voice.

 

“Right,” Youngji said with a light laugh. “But remember to call, okay? Or I’ll have to surprise you again with dinner.”

 

“I wouldn’t complain . . .”

 

“I think I’m too nice. Really, call, okay?”

 

“I’ll try. Bye, Youngji.”

 

And with that, the apartment was back into an uncomfortable silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kevin didn’t show up at the office on time like everyone else the next morning, but when he did he came with news. “Another body, this time in Daejung Offices.”

 

“Daejung Offices,” Matthew repeated. He felt like he should be remembering something important about those offices, but he had slept too little and woken up too early to recall much more than the signature full glass exterior. “Aren’t those . . . you can book meeting rooms there, right?”

 

Kevin nodded. “He was found dead in one of ‘em. They didn’t say anything but, well—” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “ _I_ think it was unusual. I dunno, you have to see it to understand.”

 

And when they entered the crime scene, a small room that would fit less than twenty people comfortably, Matthew definitely understood.

 

Everything was left pristine, untouched, as if waiting for the investigation to commence without hindrance. All the evidence was laid out for them to pick out at their convenience, including the glass and plate that the victim had last used. None of it looked liked it had been tampered with.

 

 _Playing a game_.

 

This was no accident, Matthew realized with a sinking feeling. There was something important here, some kind of clue that would lead to some kind of conclusion that may or may not be important.

 

As they continued taking in the scene, someone else entered the room. It was a voice that Matthew had only heard a few times before but recognized immediately.

 

“Jiwoo,” said Jae, greeting her with a small nod.

 

She only barely acknowledged both of them, her eyes zeroing in on the lifeless body of the victim still in his last position. “Anything on the cause of death?” she asked.

 

Jae shrugged, while Matthew chose to remain silent. Their group dynamics were thrown out of balance with the addition of Jiwoo, so he chose to just observe rather than interact for the time being.

 

After the medical examiner—who unfortunately was not Hongbin—was finished with the body, he walked over to where the three special officers were standing. “Any poisoning will be determined with certainty through analysis of the sample and the body . . . other than that, there’s nothing to particularly note about this scene. The body will probably be handed over to a forensic toxicologist for further analysis.” With that he took his exit, leaving the three officers and a few other police at the scene.

 

“Did we ID him yet?” Matthew asked, walking closer to the body. It had probably been a few hours at most since he died, so there was no strange stench quite yet, but he was paler than natural, and Matthew knew that he would be colder to the touch than was normal for a human. Rigor mortis would be setting in soon if it had not already, but Matthew didn’t want to touch the body to find out.

 

“Don’t think so, but it should be pretty obvious he’s one of them, right?” Jae said.

 

Jiwoo looked at the body again. “Sangchul Medical?”

 

“Or, at the least, one of J.Seph’s,” Jae said. “Right?”

 

Matthew nodded, but his uneasiness was becoming too hard to ignore. “Probably . . .” he said, letting his voice trail off, and Jae recognized the tone.

 

Pushing his oversized glasses a bit higher on his nose, he looked directly at Matthew. “Spill.”

 

Matthew had to think for a second to put it into words. “It’s too . . . _convenient_. All the clues—they’re just here, left for us to find and analyze.”

 

After a few beats of silence, Jae spoke up. “Man,” he said, “I thought I was the only one. This whole scene is just _weird_.”

 

And Matthew understood the feeling—they had been expecting to _search_ for clues, not find them served on a silver platter. Only Jiwoo seemed to be relatively unfazed by the circumstances.

 

“That means either we take all this evidence with a grain of salt, or we analyze every little detail that’s been left for us.” She turned to Matthew, raising her eyebrows. “What do you think? Knowing J.Seph.”

 

Knowing J.Seph?

 

There was no _knowing_ J.Seph, what with his eccentricity and tendency to stay off the radar. Rather than his actions drawing attention, like it was with most criminals, it was merely his unspoken presence behind the scenes that drew others to him, from corporations like Sangchul Medical to investigators like Matthew. This kidnapping incident was _screaming_ high profile for J.Seph, and Matthew knew there had to be more of a motivation than simply ‘silencing a witness’ as the department was inclined to believe.

 

Matthew ran a hand through his hair, holding back a sigh. There had to be something that could be found from the scene, and it wouldn’t hurt to analyze everything like Jiwoo suggested.

 

“Guess we could start by taking stuff in to fingerprint, then.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Somin felt strangely disconnected from everything around her as she was ushered back into the car, back to the penthouse. She didn’t remember changing out of her dress, though she did remember throwing it to the farthest side of the room, unable to stand the sight of it anymore. All she could remember was the face—the face of the man as he realized he couldn’t breath anymore, as he realized he was dying.

 

As he looked to Taehyung—no, as he looked to _J.Seph_ —and realized, in his dying moments, what had happened.

 

Somin had been too shocked to react then and there, but now she was beginning to feel a wave of nausea.

 

The door to the room opened, and though she didn’t turn to see, there was no mistaking whom it could be. She moved away, as far as she could, pressing herself into the corner of the room the opposite to the door. It was a futile move; she was still stuck in a penthouse with him—hell, now in the same _room_ with him—and there was no way around that.

 

She had watched the man’s life drain away slowly, frozen in spot and unable to move, the rest of the guests filing away as if they’d seen nothing.

 

Somin almost screamed when she heard J.Seph approaching. This was too much, too real, too—

 

“Don’t,” he said quietly, and though Somin wanted nothing more than to continue screaming, to lash out at him and everyone else, her terror silenced her. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to deal with that.”

 

A long day. Of course. She was supposed to sympathize when he—he had made her—

 

Somin took a shuddering breath, fighting to keep the man’s face out of her thoughts, fighting to keep the entire event from that evening out of her thoughts. “Why . . . why m-me?” she asked, stuttering.

 

“Why you?” J.Seph repeated, and when Somin dared to spare him a glance she saw a small smile present on his face. She looked away, avoiding his amused gaze. “You barely did anything, Somin.”

 

“I did e-every—I did everything.”

 

She had killed him.

 

“You gave him a glass of water.”

 

Somin shook her head. She had killed him.

 

“Did you know what was in that glass?” he asked, and now he was standing very close, too close for comfort.

 

Somin didn’t answer. She had killed him, and she was guilty.

 

“I don’t think so. In fact, I’d say that _I_ was the one that did everything . . . you were simply a pawn. Needed to open the game, needed for the first move, but insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”

 

She tried to move away, but the wall prevented her from being able to back up any farther. He was much too close now, his face mere centimeters from hers as he leaned down to her height. She lifted a hand, though she wasn’t sure what she was going to do—push him away? Hit him?

 

Before Somin could do anything, he grabbed her lifted hand by the wrist and pinned it against the wall next to her head. Her eyes darted up to his face and then to her hand. Her breathing picked up, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she lifted up her other hand and tried to push him away.

 

It was completely ineffective.

 

“You’re getting too worked up,” J.Seph said, his voice too close to her. “You need to relax.”

 

She had closed her eyes, she realized, and her eyes snapped open when she felt his hand on her face. It reminded her of that first day, when he had questioned her about Matthew—

 

His fingers ghosted down the side of her face, and he pushed one of the strands of hair behind her ear. She flinched away, and his eyes narrowed. “You’ve been left alone for too long,” he said slowly.

 

Somin’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest at the rate it was going. There was a strange tingling sensation in the wrist he was holding against the wall, like it was about to go numb, and she felt lightheaded. The room was darkening, and J.Seph was too close, and she _couldn’t breathe_.

 

“Maybe I _will_ need to break you in . . . it would help in breaking both of you down.”

 

She felt the room start tilting from one side to the other, and then she blacked out.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omigoshkardconcertimnotreadyineedmoney
> 
> *breathes*
> 
> okay i'm calm.. also i changed the title, i think this one fits better with the story


	6. 6

Unfortunately, the results from the fingerprint analysis wouldn’t come out for another two days. That left Matthew and the rest of the team with nothing better to do than analyze a crime scene that needed no further analysis—on the surface, at least.

 

Matthew sighed and glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight, and with the lack of concrete evidence to analyze they could’ve headed home a few hours ago, especially Kevin and Jiwoo; Jae would have stayed until Matthew left, and Matthew wouldn’t have left anytime soon. Instead, they all felt the same uneasiness from looking at the perfectly arranged crime scene, and they knew there was more to analyze than the evidence that was there.

 

Jae pushed himself back from the desk, the swivel chair rolling back a few feet. “I can think of exactly _zero_ motives.”

 

“We still need the fingerprint results to come back for that,” Kevin said, not looking up from his notes. “If we know _who_ did it, then we can figure out _why_.”

 

The room was silent after that, with the same unspoken thought on everyone’s minds: _Can we actually trust what we find?_

 

Jae left, muttering something about needing more coffee. Feeling a pang of guilt for forcing Jae to stay up with him, Matthew considered calling it a night. Before he could call Jae back, though, Matthew’s phone started vibrating, the caller ID indicating that Hongbin was calling.

 

For a few seconds, Matthew contemplated the pros and cons of answering, but remembering his last promise to Somin, he hit answer. “Hello?”

 

“Matthew!” The relief in Hongbin’s voice was evident, and Matthew felt another pang of guilt. “I—I’m sorry for bothering you so late, it’s just—have you called Youngji lately?”

 

“Youngji? Yeah, she stopped by around noon to pick up her phone.”

 

“No, I mean after that . . . she said she went to some convention, but she hasn’t come back yet.”

 

Matthew sat up straighter in his chair, a slight frown on his face. “What do you mean? How long is the convention?”

 

On the other end, Hongbin exhaled loudly. “I don’t _know_. There’s nothing about it _anywhere_ , and, well, usually you’d think these events are planned and announced, but—I don’t know, she’s still not back.”

 

The topic of the convention triggered Matthew’s memory, and the phone conversation with Youngji from the day before replayed in his mind. _Yeah, just a medical thing at Daejung Offices. They’ve developed a few new drugs, so tomorrow is kind of like a medical keynote, if that makes sense._

 

Matthew could feel his blood run cold. “Have you filed a missing persons report?”

 

“I . . . yeah, I did, an hour ago. I’ve tried calling her, but no answer. I—” He sighed, and he sounded so desperate that for once Matthew could truly forget about his hate for Hongbin. “I just thought you might know something, since she’d said she was picking up her phone from you . . . I thought maybe she hadn’t picked it up, but now I don’t know, I just—I don’t know.”

 

 _Daejung Offices_.

 

“I’ll look into it, see what I can help with,” Matthew said at last. He tried to say something more comforting, maybe _I’m sure nothing has happened_ , but he couldn’t get himself to lie so blatantly. “I’ll call you back if I find anything.”

 

“Thank you, thank you so much, you don’t understand,” Hongbin said, his words coming out in a relieved rush.

 

“No,” Matthew said quietly. “I do. I’ll call you back, then.”

 

Hanging up, he glanced at the two others that were still in the room. “Do we still have access to Daejung Offices at this hour?”

 

Kevin nodded. “Because of the crime scene, yes. I’m pretty sure there are still police officers patrolling the area too.”

 

With that, Matthew packed his laptop and a few folders into his bag. After a moment of consideration, he also opened a drawer to grab his handgun and waistband holster. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but there had to be something more to the convention than just—

 

“Where are you going?” Matthew turned to find Jiwoo standing up, watching as Matthew packed. “Is this related to the case?”

 

Matthew shook his head. “No, it’s just—it’s personal, nothing to do with the case.”

 

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. “A missing persons report?”

 

Matthew resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. “Like I said, it’s personal. I’m just checking something out for a . . . friend.”

 

“Regardless, if it’s at Daejung Offices then we only have access to the crime scene, not the rest of the office building,” Jiwoo said, not relenting.

 

“They’ll also question why you’re there alone,” Kevin added. “So I don’t know how successful you’ll be with investigating a personal matter.”

 

Matthew ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d taken the call outside. At that moment, Jiwoo cleared her throat. “I’ll come with you. It’ll raise less questions if there are two of us.”

 

“You—what?”

 

Instead of answering, Jiwoo also packed her things and then walked to the door. “Let’s go, then.”

 

 

 

 

 

No matter where the crime scene was, visiting it at night was always different from visiting it during the day. The atmosphere may have also been tense because of the awkwardness between Matthew and Jiwoo during the entire car ride, but Matthew attributed the tension more to the crime scene itself. It was an uneasy thought, knowing that someone had lost his life in that very room.

 

“What do you need to check?” Jiwoo asked, looking around the room as soon as the escorting officer left them alone.

 

Matthew stared at her for a few seconds, confused once again. He shook his head slightly. “No, hold on. Why are you . . . why are you doing this?”

 

For the first time since she had announced that she would accompany him to the crime scene, Jiwoo looked directly at Matthew. Her expression was unreadable. “You’re our go-to person when it comes to J.Seph. If you think something needs to be checked out, it’s probably important.”

 

He huffed, holding back from rolling his eyes. “I remember saying this was something for a friend, not something related to—”

 

“Are you sure about that?” Jiwoo’s eyes flashed, and her tone stopped Matthew from retorting. “Do you honestly think it has _nothing_ to do with this case? It’s in the same fucking building, but this isn’t the only office building in Seoul.”

 

Matthew looked around the room for a long second before sighing. “There was supposedly a convention here, something like a . . . a medical keynote?” he said, repeating Youngji’s explanation to him. Jiwoo slightly relaxed when she realized her point had been taken. “Except there’s no information about it anywhere, and she still hasn’t returned.”

 

“So her—her husband, is it? He filed a missing persons report?”

 

Matthew nodded. “A few hours ago. He called me now since he remembered I’d talked to her earlier . . . ” He trailed off. “He’s desperate.”

 

“If there’s no information then we can’t go to the front desk—the official workers probably don’t know about it either.” Jiwoo pursed her lips, her brow furrowed in concentration. “We only have access to this room, but the ‘convention’ could have been held anywhere.”

 

“Well,” Matthew said, glancing toward the door, “I guess we can start with this wing since we’re already here?”

 

Jiwoo’s eyes widened, incredulity coloring her face. “That would technically be trespassing. We’re only authorized to be in the area of the crime scene, so we’d need a warrant for anything else.”

 

Matthew shrugged. Jiwoo’s reaction was rather entertaining, and he found himself suppressing the urge to smile. “What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” he said, walking toward the door. Despite her protests, Jiwoo followed.

 

They glanced down both ends of the hallway, making sure the coast was clear before stepping out. Instead of heading down the direction that would lead them back to the lobby, they headed the opposite way to explore more of the rooms.

 

Most of them were locked, naturally, and the few that may have accidentally been left unlocked were empty and unused. Since they’d have to actually enter a few feet into the room to turn on the lights, they used the flashlights on their phones to give each unlocked room a cursory glance before moving on. By the end of the hallway, Matthew wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed, but he knew they’d have to get back to the crime scene soon to avoid raising any questions if they were found missing.

 

“That’s all for this floor,” Jiwoo said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Heading up will just draw attention.”

 

Matthew nodded slowly, reluctant to acknowledge that this midnight excursion had been fruitless. “Guess we should head back, the—”

 

He was cut off by a commotion from somewhere above them, and both of them looked up at the ceiling. It sounded as if someone had fallen, but then there were footsteps as someone ran down the hall. Matthew and Jiwoo ran along with the noise, trying to follow the sound, and then stopped near the staircase as they heard the person running down the stairs. Instinctively, Matthew stepped slightly in front of Jiwoo, his hand going to his handgun.

 

Before he could unholster it, Jiwoo put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head, but Matthew didn’t want to take that chance. Unholstering his gun, he assumed a relaxed low ready position, the gun pointing at the ground and his finger off the trigger. The two stood still, tense, waiting.

 

The person that turned the corner of the staircase, nearly tripping down the stairs in his hurry, was just a janitor, as evidenced by his uniform. As Jiwoo rushed forward to help before the man hurt himself by falling, Matthew sprinted up the stairs, checking for a pursuer. But the staircase was empty but for them, and he could hear the patrol officers coming toward the noise. Deciding that there was no immediate threat, Matthew reholstered his gun, turning back to where Jiwoo was helping the janitor walk down the rest of the stairs. It was just in time, too, as the patrol officers entered the hall area and took note of them.

 

The officer that had escorted them to the crime scene came up to Matthew as the rest of them ran upstairs to check for any security threats. “Why were you two here?”

 

Matthew gestured to the janitor, who was now sitting on floor near the foot of the stairs. Jiwoo seemed to be trying to talk to him, but he kept shaking his head. “We followed the sounds.”

 

The officer nodded, accepting the explanation, before heading away to relay something through his radio. The previously quiet building was now a hub of noise again, footsteps and shouts and the static of the radio filling the air. Ignoring all of those, Matthew headed toward Jiwoo and the janitor.

 

The trembling man was on the verge of tears, but the predominant emotion on his face was fear. His eyes were darting around the room, not able to focus on anything for more than a few seconds, and Jiwoo was trying to calm him down.

 

But he only shook his head, and after a few irregular breaths he spoke, his speech unstable and full of pauses. “There—there was s-someone th-th-there.”

 

Jiwoo and Matthew exchanged a glance, and then Jiwoo asked, “Where?”

 

He lifted a shaky hand to point up. “The r-room.”

 

“Did the person threaten you at all?”

 

The janitor shook his head too quickly. His voice sounded strained when he spoke next. “She . . . she was d-dead.”

 

 

 

 

 

No.

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew could barely hear Jiwoo yelling behind him as he ran, taking the stairs two at a time, knowing what he heard but not wanting to believe it until he saw it himself.

 

The patrol officers were already gathered around the entrance to one of the rooms, their expressions ranging from horror to anger. Matthew didn’t slow as he approached them; he pushed them out of his way, forcing himself past the ones blocking the entrance, and then came to a standstill. His hands, previously clenched into fists, dropped loosely to his sides.

 

“ _No_.”

 

This wasn’t happening. This was just a dream, a hallucination, a result of too many nights spent at work while running on too much coffee. There was no way— _no way_ —that she—

 

She . . . it wasn’t recognizable. It could be anyone else. Until the forensics results came through, there was no knowing—

 

Of all people, _Youngji_ —

 

“Matthew? _Matthew_?” The voice was frantic, somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes away from the scene in front of him. His brain was rejecting the image, refusing to process it.

 

And then someone was tugging on his arm, trying to pull him out of the room. “We need to go . . . Matthew!”

 

A few seconds later, someone else joined, another familiar voice. “Okay, Matt, I know you never take my advice, but hear me out on this one— _let’s go_.” This person was stronger than the other, and together the two dragged Matthew out of the room, but the image had already been seared into his mind.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Slowly blinking, Somin found that it took a bit longer for her eyes to focus on the room around her. She didn’t recognize her surroundings at first. It was a small room with a single glass door that led into a larger room, and with what she could see of the larger room—swivel chairs around a long, oval-shaped glass table, of which only the closest part was visible from her vantage point—she guessed it was an office room of some sort. The room she was in had a counter along the side wall, where there was a coffee machine and a clear mini fridge with drinks.

 

Somin knew, without a doubt, the she was somewhere else—this was no longer the penthouse.

 

“You talk a lot, when you sleep. You’ve been out for almost a whole day.”

 

Somin jolted upright, and she realized that she wasn’t bound as she had expected to be. She turned to the source of the sound, a ways behind the couch she was seated on, and froze when she saw the now familiar face.

 

J.Seph stood from the chair he was sitting on in the back corner of the room, putting his phone away once he realized that Somin was awake enough to move around. She cringed away as he approached, wondering what would happen after the . . . the last incident.

 

And then she registered what he had just said. “A whole day?”

 

He nodded, walking forward to lean against the wall next to the glass door. “You passed out yesterday evening. It’s almost two in the afternoon today.”

 

Somin took a second to process that. “Did I . . . w-what did I . . . say?” she asked. Matthew had never said anything about sleep-talking, so she doubted it was a habit. Though she wasn’t sure about the causes off the top of her head, she had a feeling that stress would be one of them, which would explain why she developed it all of a sudden.

 

Now J.Seph smiled, as if he were proud that she had asked the right question. “Nothing much . . . but quite a few names. And that’s all I really needed.”

 

Somin’s breath caught as she thought of what that could mean. “Names?”

 

“You called for Matthew a lot, as expected.” He listed them off with his fingers. “Your family, siblings . . . but you also called for some friends, so I decided to look into them more.”

 

That didn’t help lessen her confusion. J.Seph seemed to understand her expression, though. “Don’t worry, she should be here soon. I believe the convention was announced as being at two . . .”

 

“Convention? Who?” Somin was now thoroughly confused.

 

“One of the friends you named. Heo Youngji, correct?” Even as Somin froze, J.Seph continued to speak. “Of course it’s correct,” he said, shaking his head slightly. The light smile never left his face. “I was the one who did the background check. Pharmaceutical scientist, currently employed at Sangchul Medical, married to a forensic pathologist that works in the same department as Matthew . . . it was also at her house that day that Lee took you. A rather close friend, I’d assume.”

 

Somin could feel her breathing picking up along with her heart rate, but she managed to keep her voice steady. “But . . . she has nothing to do with any of this?” she said, her voice rising in pitch near the end, expressing her confusion.

 

“Of course she doesn’t,” he said, and then his phone made a sound. Quickly checking the notification, he looked back to Somin, his smile widening. “She’s just arrived. I’ll go welcome her, and you can make yourself comfortable. I thought the glass door was a nice touch, you wouldn’t have to just hear everything.”

 

With that, he exited the small room, making sure the door closed completely before he left. As soon as he went out of the office room, Somin rushed forward to try opening the door—but she should’ve known better. It was locked, and she could barely make out a keypad lock above the door handle. She groaned, running a hand through her hair.

 

Needing a distraction, she looked around the room, wondering if the glass door could be broken with something there. She realized that she must have been in some sort of refreshment room, since it was connected to the office room and had the corresponding accommodations. However, she had no luck in finding anything to try to break the door with; lifting the coffee machine—an industrial-sized, large item—or the mini fridge would have done more harm to Somin than to the door.

 

Just as she was about to decide whether or not she should try throwing the chair J.Seph had been sitting on, she heard the office door open. She whirled around and all but ran to the door, and then she went very, very still.

 

He hadn’t been joking. As much as she knew he hadn’t been joking, she had been unwilling to believe it until she saw it herself, and now, with Youngji right in front of her, a confused expression on her face when she saw the empty office room, it was crystal clear that this was not a joke.

 

Youngji seemed to be asking J.Seph something, but her voice was dulled by the glass barrier. Somin stood there, gaping, unsure how to react, until Youngji looked in her direction and almost walked into a chair.

 

“Somin?” she called, and Somin saw the movement of her lips more than she heard the sound of her voice. J.Seph was now grinning, looking between Youngji and Somin, and he signaled something with his glove-covered hands. There must have been people standing outside, because someone stepped forward to close the door. Somin knew that it was locked.

 

At the sound of the door closing, Youngji spun around to face the door, shocked, before she turned to J.Seph, her previously friendly expression slowly being replaced by fear. She said something while backing away from him, and he laughed, his expression _much_ too friendly to be a good sign.

 

Youngji nearly tripped as she ran to the door where Somin was. “Somin? Are you okay?” she called out, having to yell to make sure her voice was heard.

 

Somin nodded, but she could also see J.Seph approaching, and she was no longer able to keep the panic out of her voice. “Run! Youngji, _run_ , do something, I’m fine, _go_ —”

 

But Youngji wasn’t listening. She was trying to pull on the door, but it was locked. Somin pounded on the door to get the other girl’s attention. “Youngji! _Run_! _Please_ , he’s not—he’ll— _Youngji_!”

 

J.Seph yanked Youngji backward by her hair, and her cry was so loud that Somin could hear it clearly despite the glass door. Somin pounded again against the door. “No! Please—please don’t hurt her! Youngji!”

 

As expected, J.Seph didn’t listen. He dragged her backward by her hair and then, turning one of the chairs around, forcefully shoved her into the seat. Her hair was a mess in front of her face, and as it settled to the side, the tear streaks on her cheeks became visible. She was trembling, a stark contrast to how put together and stable J.Seph looked sitting opposite to her, leaned back with his legs crossed.

 

When J.Seph spoke, he made sure to raise his voice enough for Somin to hear, but the fact that they were already so close to the door made the effort on his part minimal. “Glad you could make it, Youngji. In case you were wondering, Somin has been alive and well.” He glanced at Somin, shooting her a smile. “Unfortunately,” he said, looking back to Youngji, “I won’t be able to say the same about you in a few minutes.”

 

Somin tried to calm her breathing so she could hear them better, hoping that she had misheard his last statement. Youngji visibly stiffened, her eyes widening. She seemed to say something, but it was so quietly said that even J.Seph had to lean slightly forward to hear her.

 

He shook his head, using a hand to gesture toward Somin. “She was getting too comfortable. My mistake, truly, since I never demonstrated just what’s at stake here.”

 

Somin didn’t want to try to understand what he meant by that, but she had sickening feeling that she would find out regardless. She wished that, miraculously, someone would pop in through the door—but with the person outside clearly working for J.Seph, she doubted that even as a remote possibility.

 

Youngji said something else, and Somin’s eyes darted between the two of them, her brain trying to make up with her vision what she missed with her hearing. Naturally, it was ineffective, and she could only guess at what was said. J.Seph glanced at Somin again, his expression thoughtful. “Well, you are a good friend of hers, correct? Actually,” he said, his eyes lighting up, “I think I have another idea.” He uncrossed his legs to lean forward more, and Youngji shrunk backward, the swivel chair also moving backward with her movement.

 

He reached out to grab the swivel chair by the armrest, preventing it from moving further. He pulled her chair closer so that he could hold onto both armrests. “What do you know about Matthew Kim?”

 

This time, Somin gasped, pushing her ear to the glass to try to make out _something_. Youngji must have said something, because he shook his head. “No, more specifically about his cases. How much information does he have concerning _J.Seph_ as far as you’re aware?”

 

Youngji wouldn’t know anything. Even Somin barely knew anything but his name, so there was no way Youngji could know about any more details. It was useless to question her—

 

Somin froze, her breathing stuttering.

 

_Useless. She’d be useless._

 

“I see . . .” He tapped his fingers against the armrest of Youngji’s chair, his grip unyielding though Somin could see that Youngji was trying to push herself away. “And you’re sure your husband knows nothing? It wouldn’t be too hard, bringing him in for questioning . . . as a matter of fact, I’d say it would be _much_ easier.”

 

 _Hongbin_. Oh god, where was Hongbin, did he know what was happening right now?

 

Youngji shook her head violently, and even Somin could hear her cry out, “ _No_.” She explained that Hongbin would know nothing, he’s never assigned to particular cases, he just examines the bodies at the crime scene and tries to establish a cause of death, there was no way he’d know anything—

 

J.Seph sighed loudly, dropping his head, and Youngji cut off her rambling. He let go of Youngji’s chair, but he didn’t lean back. “I could’ve saved myself a headache if I’d gone with the original plan,” he said, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.

 

When he opened his eyes again, he studied Youngji for a few seconds while she continued crying. And then, the movement so fast that Somin didn’t understand what she was seeing, he gripped Youngji by her hair and slammed her head against the glass table.

 

Youngji screamed, but it was cut off when he lifted her head and smashed it back into the glass. Again. Again. And again. She tried to pry his hand away, tried to pull her hair from his grip, but her movements got progressively weaker and the tabletop got progressively bloodier.

 

And then the glass shattered, the small shards flying everywhere, and since the table was no more J.Seph threw Youngji to the floor, as if she were a rag doll. He stood up, rotating his wrist, looking calmly at where Youngji was lying.

 

Youngji was no longer screaming, but the sound was still there, the cries of _STOP_ so loud, so _present_ despite the glass door, and Somin realized that she was screaming too. Her fists ached from pounding against the door, and her vision was blurred.

 

She screamed out for Youngji, her voice shaky as her breathing stuttered. She could swear she saw the girl’s arm move slightly, but it only made her cry harder. There was no way Youngji could get out of this. Youngji was nothing but kind and welcoming, and now, just because she was Somin’s _friend_ , she had to die. And this . . . this would destroy Hongbin. This would even destroy Matthew, who loved Youngji like a sister, and it was all because of Somin. If she hadn’t talked in her sleep, if she had just listened to J.Seph without resisting, if she’d listened to Matthew and declined the party invitation, if she’d let him get the gift from the car, if she’d just _ignored the fucking gift and gotten it later_ , then—then—

 

She slid down against the door, unsteadily falling to her knees, her hands still against the door, mind unwilling to believe what was before her. She couldn’t look at Youngji’s face, her eyes stopping when they encountered the edge of the pool of blood.

 

The door opened, and she almost fell forward since she was using it as her primary support. J.Seph caught her by her upper arms, kneeling down next to her. Somin was in too much shock to even lash out and get away.

 

“Breathe, Somin,” he said. He turned her around so she was facing him, but she refused to meet his eyes. “Take a deep breath. In, and out.” Somin realized she was gasping for air, and that was the only noise in the room. She took a breath, trying to regulate her breathing, but her body wasn’t cooperating. She shook her head, shutting her eyes tightly, feeling a few more tears slip out.

 

They stayed there, sitting on the floor, a few feet from Youngji’s body, for who knows how long. But Somin’s breathing finally normalized, and then J.Seph tilted her chin up so that she was forced to look at him.

 

He looked so _normal_. Completely unaffected.

 

“Why? I suppose you’re wondering why,” he said.

 

Somin didn’t respond in any way, only continuing to focus on her breathing.

 

“Your boyfriend’s been getting a bit too nosy for his own good.” He let out a small, exasperated breath. “They have information— _some_ kind of information—and it would bring down my partnership with Sangchul Medical.” He smiled slightly then. “Not my empire, no—just that partnership. But that would be a huge loss, and I’d rather not deal with that either.”

 

She stayed silent, her brain deciding to concentrate on J.Seph’s words rather than—than the office room. They were more understandable.

 

“So this is where you come in, Somin. Matthew has something I need, and I have something he needs. Of course, it’s a bit harder managing a human than a few files,” he said, chuckling. “Which is why _this_ was necessary. You understand, don’t you?”

 

Somin shook her head. She tried pulling herself away, but J.Seph held her by her face and forced her to turn, to look at—

 

She shoved him away violently, and he must not have expected the force since he had to hold a hand out to balance himself again. She got up—or at least, she tried to, until her knees buckled, and she fell back down. She pushed herself backward, away from him, breathing hard.

 

J.Seph stood up, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. He grabbed Somin by the hair at the back of her head, dragging her up so she was standing. “If you keep acting out of line, there’ll be more,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. Somin whimpered in pain.

 

“I think we’re done here,” he said, and without letting go of Somin, he pulled her with him, stepping past Youngji’s body and the shattered table. The door opened, and Somin recognized one of the two men outside as one of the penthouse guards. “Make it presentable,” J.Seph said, and they bowed before heading into the room, closing the door behind them.

 

Her entire body ached from exhaustion, her limbs feeling as though they were filled with lead; the only reason she was moving was because of J.Seph dragging her with him. Numbness was slowly overtaking her, though, and soon it was mechanical—keep up with J.Seph to avoid tripping.

 

Through the foggy weariness occupying her mind, she vaguely recognized the halls from the day before, when she was led back to the car by J.Seph while in a similar state of shock. It was the same place that she had . . . _killed_ someone.

 

Not only was she a witness to murder, she realized. Her heart dropped as she remembered. She was a murderer, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 _I . . . I’m so,_ so _sorry, Youngji._

 

_I'm sorry, Matthew._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: the same chapter (with two povs) does not necessarily take place chronologically ... the timeline can kind of jump around between the povs, but it's consistent within each pov (if that makes sense ... kinda like how matthew was shown seeing the crime scene, but then the crime scene was explained afterward through somin's pov)


	7. 7

Matthew couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so . . . at a loss.

 

Even when Somin was kidnapped, Matthew had held himself together, convincing himself that she would be back—that he would _get her back_ —and not leaving room for any doubts.

 

But this time, there was no room for doubt. In the wrong way.

 

Matthew rubbed his face with his hands. The initial shock that had kept him from being able to move had now turned into a sort of numbness, and he was able to think of anything but _that_.

 

Jiwoo was sitting on the same staircase as Matthew—the same staircase the janitor had run down—only a few steps higher. Jae was pacing on the landing between the first and second floors, and watching him go back and forth was kind of therapeutic. None of them tried to initiate a conversation—none was needed, anyway.

 

There was the sound of a scuffle down on the first floor, and Jae stopped pacing as he looked down to see who was approaching. He froze, and then looked up at Matthew with wide eyes. Though Matthew wanted to do nothing more than just go home and sleep, he stood up and leaned over the railing to see who it was.

 

His stomach dropped when he recognized the form of Hongbin walking up the stairs, being guided—and maybe restrained—by the officer that was holding him by the elbow. Hongbin’s appearance was disheveled, his usually combed and neat hair tousled as if he had just woken up and left the house without as much as checking his appearance . . . which was probably the case. His face was paler than usual, his eyes darting around anxiously.

 

Hongbin soon saw Jae on the landing, and then looked up as he turned, seeing both Matthew and Jiwoo as well. His eyes focused on Matthew. “What did you find?” he asked. He sounded desperate.

 

Matthew was at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond. Of how to tell him.

 

When Matthew didn’t respond, Hongbin laughed nervously. “Did you . . . did you even find anything?” Silence. “You found something, right?”

 

Hongbin slowed to a stop once he was on the landing and looked at the officer escorting him. “What did they find?” His voice was significantly diminished; realization seemed to be seeping through as each second of silence only confirmed his fear. “What did they _find_?”

 

“S-sir, we need you to calm do—”

 

“ _What did they find?_ ” Hongbin said, emphasizing each word. But he knew the answer, just by looking at their faces, at the way they all avoided his question and refused to make eye contact. For a long moment, everyone seemed to be standing still, the only sound being their breathing.

 

Then Hongbin yanked his elbow free from the officer’s grip and dashed up the stairs.

 

Matthew had to move quickly, and he grabbed Hongbin by the arm to hold him back. “Hongbin, wait!”

 

“Let _go_!”

 

“Hongbin—”

 

“ _Let go!_ ” Hongbin shoved Matthew backward, nearly pushing him down the stairs. As Matthew caught his balance, Jiwoo also grabbed onto Hongbin, somehow managing to hold him back despite her small frame. Jae ran up to help them, and all three of them were required to drag Hongbin away from the second floor and back to the landing.

 

He was screaming the whole way, a jumble of her name and cries of denial, and it was only after they had restrained him for a few minutes that he began to calm down, his thrashing becoming weaker as exhaustion took over.

 

Matthew didn’t know what to say—couldn’t say anything. In a way, he could have prevented this . . . if he had gotten there earlier, if he had asked her more about the convention, if he been paying more attention to the connection between the locations and _warned_ her, then maybe, just maybe—

 

A few minutes later, Hongbin was sitting with his head between knees at the corner of the landing. He was no longer trying to run toward the crime scene, and he had ignored the moment when the other medical examiner passed by them on his way out.

 

Jiwoo made eye contact with Matthew to catch his attention. She pointed to her watch, and when Matthew checked the time on his phone, he was surprised to find that it was almost three in the morning. He glanced to where Hongbin was still huddled on the floor.

 

Hongbin and . . . they had been there for him when he needed them, even though he didn’t know he needed them at the time. Though his mind was unable to completely forget Hongbin’s past, his attitude had significantly been altered by the present.

 

Letting out a sigh, Matthew crouched down beside Hongbin. “Hey, um . . .” Asking if he was okay was ridiculous and would probably come off as insensitive, since there was no way he was okay. Matthew decided that just getting to the point was the best option. “It’s really late . . . it’s probably best to get going.”

 

Hongbin didn’t move, and Matthew remembered how hard it still was for him to be in his apartment alone. And Hongbin, unlike Matthew, didn’t have the benefit of the doubt to keep a positive outlook—it was confirmed, and it was permanent . . .

 

“You can, uh, crash at my place, if you want . . . there’s an extra room.”

 

When Hongbin didn’t respond, Jae spoke up. “That’s a good idea. Let’s go, Hongbin.” He walked toward Hongbin, and though Hongbin made no effort to move, Jae pulled him up from the ground. “Where’s your car, Matthew?”

 

 

 

 

 

Jae and Jiwoo took Hongbin’s car to head back to the station, while Matthew took Hongbin to his apartment in his own car. Hongbin was silent the entire ride, and Matthew didn’t know what to say to lift the silence. So it dragged on.

 

Matthew showed Hongbin to the guest bedroom and gave him one of his sweatpants and t-shirts to wear to sleep. They were most definitely going to be too big, but they would be more comfortable than the button-up and slacks he was currently wearing.

 

He didn’t know how many hours passed since they came home, but before long Matthew was jolted awake by a sound from outside his bedroom. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

 

“Hongbin?” he called out as he entered the living room. The lights in the kitchen and dining area were on, and when he turned the corner he was greeted by the sight of Hongbin sitting on one of the bar stools next to the kitchen island, hunched over on the counter top. There were glass shards on the floor, and Matthew quickly walked over to the front door to get a pair of sandals before heading toward Hongbin.

 

Matthew cleared his throat. “Hongbin? You okay, man?” He noticed that Hongbin wasn’t wearing shoes, so Matthew would have to clean up the glass pieces first.

 

Before he could move to get a pair of gloves, Hongbin laughed. It sounded tense, forced, and Matthew froze. “Hongbin?”

 

“This was never supposed to happen,” Hongbin said, laughing again as he shook his head. The pitch was too high to be normal, and Matthew uneasily asked what he meant. “Neither of them was supposed to be hurt. He promised. He fucking _promised_. Swore on his mother.” He laughed again, the volume increasing. “Probably killed her, too.”

 

Wanting to ease the tension before the situation escalated, Matthew brought another glass of water for Hongbin. Setting the glass in front of him, Matthew carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hongbin, I think you should—”

 

Hongbin shrugged off Matthew’s arm. “I took the blame for _everything_.” Matthew took a step back when Hongbin slammed his hands against the tabletop. “I fucking _saved_ Somin, damn it, but then I took the fucking blame for it. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt _again_!”

 

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. There was only one thing he could be talking about—the car accident—but what he was saying made no sense. “You . . . saved her?”

 

Hongbin scoffed, taking the glass and observing it as if scrutinizing the water. “I thought you were smarter, Matthew. I used to love her, for fuck’s sake. Of course I saved her.”

 

Matthew cringed at the reminder, but his attention was more focused on what Hongbin was still saying.

 

“I put up with this for Youngji, and now she’s—she’s fucking _dead_.” And then, without warning, he threw the glass onto the floor, his eyes blazing. The glass shattered, water spilling everywhere, but the thought of cleaning up the mess was at the back of Matthew’s mind. “ _How the fuck can she be dead?_ ”

 

Hongbin then buried his face into his hands, resting his head on the counter top. “She can’t be dead.” His shoulders shook, and he took a ragged breath. “She . . . she _can’t_ ,” he said, and his voice broke near the end.

 

After a moment’s hesitation to analyze the level of risk, Matthew decided now was not the time to ask questions. He wordlessly placed an arm over Hongbin’s shoulders, and Hongbin let out a shuddering sob. “I . . . I did _everything I could_.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

That night, even when she finally cleared her mind, Somin didn’t sleep. She _couldn’t_ sleep, what with the image of . . . with that image imprinted in her mind. She could see nothing but that scene every time she closed her eyes just to blink, so she did _not_ want to know what she would see if she were to fall asleep and dream.

 

J.Seph was gone the entire next day, and Somin was grateful. She still couldn’t sleep, though, and she jolted herself awake each time she felt herself slipping. Her fear of what she might see—as well as what she might miss, if J.Seph decided to come back—outweighed her desire to sleep.

 

Besides, the penthouse seemed to be getting especially cold, and halfway through the day Somin realized that couldn’t walk barefoot without her toes going numb. Since she couldn’t find a pair of socks anywhere, she pulled the edge of her pants, which were too long for her, over her feet. By the end of the day, the additional warmth was negligible.

 

That was the second night in the penthouse after the . . . _incident_ , and Somin must have fallen asleep for about half an hour from sheer exhaustion before she woke up trembling. It took her a second to identify the reason, and when her body spasmed again she realized that it was _freezing_.

 

When she stepped out of bed, about to stand, she jerked her feet back involuntarily and fell back onto the bed—the floor was so cold that it actually hurt. Though her hands were shaking, Somin carefully tied the extra length of the pants around her feet to provide some sort of barrier before trying to stand again. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed up and down her arms to try to generate some heat.

 

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, she realized that nowhere in the penthouse could she find a thermostat. She had no idea what the temperature was, but she was positive that it was much, _much_ too low to be safe, let alone comfortable.

 

The second day came and went, and there was still no sign of J.Seph. Somin could no longer get herself to open the fridge since the extra burst of cold air was too much; in fact, she barely had the energy to pull herself up into a sitting position on the bed. As she sat with her back against the headboard and knees pulled up to her chest, she pulled the blanket tighter against her to try to keep herself warm—but it was too thin to be effective, and her shivering never stopped. She didn’t leave the bedroom that day except to use the bathroom.

 

Somin was too tired to feel alarmed when the cold tap water felt warm to her hands.

 

By the third night, Somin had too little energy from lack of sleep to use exercise as a way to warm up, and the way she was trembling only used up more energy. Her fear of sleep and her fear of J.Seph now felt insignificant in comparison to her need to feel _warmth_.

 

She didn’t know if she actually slept or if she was simply passed out, but when it was light again outside Somin had only one thought on her mind: She was going to die. She had tried the previous day to open the closet, intending to layer on the thickest, warmest clothes she could find, but it had been locked, and Somin had been stuck in the flannel pajamas she was wearing, though she didn’t remember wearing them. Her thoughts were a jumble, anyway, so she wouldn’t put it past herself to have just forgotten. She vaguely recalled the first time she had woken up in the penthouse . . . she had somehow been in different clothes that time, too.

 

Her senses weren’t the sharpest, but she somewhat made out the sound of the door opening. It was  _so cold_ . . . she didn’t bother with opening her eyes.

 

“Rather chilly in here, isn’t it?” The voice was familiar, and Somin felt a natural pang of panic go through her body. But she couldn't muster the energy to act on it, so she just stayed where she was sitting, curled into a fetal position with the blanket pulled tightly around her. Her muscles ached from the tremors.

 

“It’s not nearly at freezing quite yet . . .” he said quietly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Are you cold?”

 

 _Yes_. Her movements were slow and jerky, but she managed to nod.

 

“Maybe these clothes were too light . . .” he said, almost as if speaking to himself. “No matter. What would you do if I said I would make it warm again?”

 

Somin’s eyes opened slightly, her brain screaming at the mention of warmth, but her head began to pound so she closed them again. It was too cold. It was much too cold.

 

She swallowed to try to get her throat to work, but the action barely helped—her voice was still raspy, and she couldn't stop stuttering because of how much she was shaking from the cold. “A-a-any . . . th-thing . . .”

 

There was laughter. “Anything? Isn’t that a tempting offer.”

 

At this point, Somin knew that she would quite possibly do anything to end the cold. She would regret this later, she knew; but the idea of regret seemed like a luxury. Would she even be alive to feel regret?

 

“P-please.”

 

The bed shifted. Somin’s eyes were still closed, so she could only guess that someone had gotten on the bed. His voice was closer, so Somin knew she was right. “Do you promise?” He paused. “I don’t make promises lightly, and I expect the same in return.”

 

_“You’ll see each other again, I promise. And I don’t make such statements lightly.”_

 

She couldn’t die—Matthew, he didn’t deserve to suffer more because of her—

 

“I—I p-p-promise.”

 

Somin felt herself being pulled up into a near sitting position. His hands were warm, and she was so cold that she could feel the heat through the scanty blanket. Without any thinking—not about the actions, the motives, or even the consequences—she moved closer to him, closer to the source of warmth.

 

His arms wrapped around her, and she buried her face into his chest, still shivering. She was terrified, but she was warm.

 

She cracked her eyes open again and noticed that he was wearing a suit—a neutral color, pitch black, but it could have just been the lack of sufficient light through the blanket.

 

Somin finally felt some feeling returning to her fingers. Exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um i'd google "cia use of cold cell" ...? idk i think ap psych is getting to my head and it's starting to drive ME crazy
> 
> i'm kind of very sad because i didn't get to go to the kard concert but i'm consoling myself by deciding that i will go to their next concert after debut no matter where it is istfg


	8. 8

Matthew had still wanted to be a part of Somin’s investigation, despite the protocol against his participation because of their relationship. Luckily, department protocol didn’t account for the fact that the case’s connection to J.Seph made Matthew, with his history of tackling J.Seph-related crimes, the best person to be on the team . . . and that was all it had taken to convince Director Park to cover up the connection between Matthew and Somin; it was for the sake of the case.

 

The same was not true for Hongbin. It was too easy to call in a different medical examiner, so Hongbin’s presence was not required. Besides, with them being married, their relationship was harder for the department to ‘accidentally’ overlook—it was legally documented. This meant that contrary to his wishes, Hongbin was to stay far, far away from the case. Director Park had pressured Hongbin into taking two weeks off so that he could come to terms with . . . with Youngji’s death.

 

In order to make sure he stayed stable, Director Park had suggested—more like assigned—that Matthew essentially babysit Hongbin for that weekend. Matthew’s reaction was less dismal than the director had probably expected, probably because he could, to a certain extent, sympathize with Hongbin’s frustration and anger at not being involved.

 

 

 

 

 

Most of that Saturday, Hongbin stayed in the guest room, preferring to be alone. Matthew understood, so he didn’t try to invade Hongbin’s privacy or push him to interact. He had Jae and Jiwoo message him about any updates and email new files relevant to the case so he could look over them while at home. But he found it too hard to stay focused on the investigation at hand; his thoughts kept drifting to Hongbin’s outburst during the early hours of that day.

 

Matthew’s knowledge about the accident wasn’t exactly comprehensive since he was never directly involved—his only involvement was through Somin. But what he did remember, he knew he would never be able to forget—the police, the ambulances, the fire trucks, the lights, the _sirens_ . . . the sirens had been so loud. Even now, just the sound made him uncomfortable, so he was glad he was a special investigations officer. Their unit was rarely first to respond to a crime scene, so the lights and sirens were generally unnecessary.

 

But as much as he hated sirens, he _despised_ hospitals.

 

A crime scene, as horrific as it could be, was natural. In the cases Matthew and his team dealt with, these scenes were the results of the very real actions of another human. But a hospital? The wires, the needles, the beeping . . . and everything was so _white_ , a stark, harsh, monotonous white. It was unnatural.

 

_So many wires, they seemed to have no end. There were a few monitors hooked up to various machines, different numbers and lines in different colors conveying some kind of relevant information . . . Somin seemed to be drowning in the hospital gown and the sheets. She was so pale._

 

No, he was _not_ going to relive those memories.

 

_What if, at the end of this . . . that’s where you see her again?_

 

Matthew took a slow breath. It was almost time for dinner, and since neither he nor Hongbin seemed to be in a mood to leave the apartment, he’d have to order takeout. His phone was on the other side of the coffee table in front of the sofa, though—just out of reach. He didn’t feel like getting up yet, so he sighed, leaning back in his seat, and glanced at the files still on the coffee table.

 

If, at the end of all of this . . . if Somin was in the hospital . . . honestly, he would be grateful. At least she would be back.

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, while Matthew sat at the dining table with his laptop open, Hongbin had chosen to turn on the news in spite of Matthew’s advice to not, and that was when Matthew realized that it was already Sunday. Over a week had passed since Somin had been kidnapped last Saturday . . . and in the week since, so much else had happened.

 

And despite a whole week passing, there was still no evidence that she was still . . .

 

For all they knew, Youngji could’ve been the _second_ victim—

 

Matthew stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushed it back from the table. Water seemed like a good idea. Hongbin didn’t look away from the TV; he continued robotically switching between the different news channels.

 

“—vise you to be alert of your surroundings and be wary of going out in later hours. Always report any suspicious acti—”

 

“—jung Offices closed until further notice. The area is under investigation as the site of not one, but _two_ horrific murders, the latest in the series of murders that have been taking place in the Seoul area over the past week. The cause of this influx is unknown, but the investigation is ongoing, and—”

 

“—are currently no new developments, but friends and family of the victim have stepped forward to offer their thoughts on—”

 

Hongbin shut off the TV. Matthew didn’t complain; if Hongbin hadn’t shut that thing off, Matthew probably would’ve broken it.

 

As Matthew got a glass out of the cupboard, Hongbin spoke up. “Is this . . . normal?”

 

“Is what normal?”

 

“This . . . feeling. I feel . . . numb?”

 

Matthew closed the cupboard door. “Numbness can be normal. A part of shock.”

 

Hongbin shook his head. “But . . . I can’t believe it. It’s like—it’s like if I go home now, Y—” He took a breath. “It’s like she’ll still be there, and she’ll yell at me for coming back so late.”

 

Matthew didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know how to relate, because if he was being honest, he wasn’t facing such a situation. Though there was no news about Somin, no news was better than bad news, and Matthew refused to imagine a scenario in which she didn’t come back.

 

The memory of Somin in the hospital flashed through his mind again, and even as he pushed the thought away, he remembered Hongbin’s words from the previous day.

 

_“Neither of them were supposed to be hurt.”_

 

 _“I fucking_ saved _Somin, damn it, but then I took the fucking blame for it. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt_ again _!”_

 

Matthew cleared his throat to get Hongbin’s attention. “Hey . . . what you said yesterday . . . about the accident and—”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t bring it up. I was rambling.”

 

“Hongbin, that did _not_ sound like ram—”

 

“But that’s what it was, all right?” Hongbin said suddenly, standing up from the sofa. He ran a hand through his hair, making it more tousled than it already was. Letting out a deep breath, he spoke with a calmer voice. “Just . . . never mention it again. I _don’t_ want to make it worse, and I don’t think you want to either.”

 

Matthew’s expression must’ve spoken volumes, because Hongbin held up a hand to stop him before he could respond. “I know you’re confused, but just let it be. It was my mistake, okay? Same as it always was.” By the end, Hongbin’s tone had turned bitter, and with that he left to lock himself in the guest room again.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that day, Matthew was in the middle of deciding whether to take a nap or convince Hongbin to step out and go to the gym with him when his phone vibrated. It was a call from Jae.

 

Grabbing his phone and taking a seat on the sofa, Matthew answered. “Hey, Jae—”

 

“I think you should stop by the station.”

 

Before Matthew could reply, Jae spoke again. “As soon as possible. And bring Hongbin if you need to, but get here fast, man.” He sounded like he was about to hang up.

 

“Wait, Jae, _hold on_.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

 

There was a sigh from the other end, and a few seconds of silence.

 

“Jae?”

 

“The fingerprint results came in.”

 

Matthew leaned back on the sofa. “That’s good. So we’ve identified suspects?”

 

There was the sound of Jae clearing his throat. “Matt . . . the fingerprints on the cup. They’re Somin’s.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

It was her first year in college. Somin had been terrified—roommates, professors, courses . . . it seemed overwhelming, especially when she was fresh out of high school.

 

But she was worrying too much. Her roommate, Youngji, was easygoing and agreeable, nothing like the roommates from hell that blogs online had warned her about. The professors were . . . well, normal professors, but not the terrifying nightmare-fuel Somin imagined them to be. And the courses were harder, yes, but the workload wasn’t _completely_ unmanageable.

 

Somin wasn’t quite sure about her major yet, but at the moment she was following a chemistry major. Her parents had balked when she brought up pursuing a music-related major, so she decided that chemistry wasn’t a _terrible_ option. She was sure that, with enough studying, she could manage to pass the required courses . . . and maybe, at the least, minor in something music-related.

 

Since Youngji was also pursuing a major in chemistry, they typically went to the library, which was about a ten-minute walk from their dorm, to study together. But around mid-November, Youngji had gotten a cold and couldn’t head out to study, and since neither of them wanted Somin to also get sick, Somin stayed out of the dorm when she could . . . meaning heading to the library alone for study sessions.

 

 _Studying alone is normal_ , Somin convinced herself. _Stop acting like an over-privileged brat_.

 

It wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be—no one bothered her. Heck, no one even paid attention to her, and it was perfect. Until about halfway through her study session, when she realized that the textbook she was referencing didn’t have the updated information that the professor covered in his lecture. With a sigh, she headed back to the textbook section, scanning for the shelves for a newer resource.

 

Somin quickly found an updated version of the same textbook—it was probably the one the professor was using for the new information. But there was one significant problem: it was _way_ out of her reach.

 

She could use a chair, and that would probably help her reach it if she didn’t lose her balance while standing on it; but she was still nervous about drawing attention to herself. She looked on the lower shelves to see if anyone had misplaced another copy somewhere, but she had no such luck. Running a hand through her hair, she looked around . . . maybe she could ask another student if—

 

“Looking for something?”

 

Somin turned around a bit too quickly. It was a student, and a quick glance at the ID he was wearing indicated that he was currently working a shift at the library. Light caramel hair, attractive face . . . and tall, nearly a foot taller than Somin.

 

Regaining her train of thought, Somin pointed to the textbook. “Could you, um, get that for me?”

 

He glanced up to where Somin was pointing, and though Somin said nothing about her ability—or lack of—to reach it, she could tell by the way his lips curved upwards that he had come to that conclusion on his own.

 

She’d have to start wearing heels to the library. Great.

 

“Thank you,” she said, quickly turning away to head back to her table. She didn’t wait for a reply.

 

 

 

 

 

The professor had been hinting at a pop quiz sometime soon, so Somin wanted extra preparation just in case; this professor had a tendency for asking about the most minute details in his pop quizzes.

 

This also meant that Somin would be heading back to the library nearly every day, since the textbooks she was using couldn’t be checked out.

 

When she first headed back a few days later, she took the same old version of the textbook out of habit, but as she was walking to an empty table she remembered the updated version. Praying that someone would have left it on a lower shelf, she was dismayed to see it still up there, out of reach. With a sigh, Somin glanced around, and she was eyeing the chair at the empty desk nearby when someone cleared his throat behind her.

 

It was the same student from yesterday, this time with a small grin. “Need a hand?”

 

Somin laughed lightly, embarrassed. “Yeah . . . thanks.”

 

“No problem,” he said with a smile, easily reaching the textbook and handing it to Somin.

 

When Somin returned to her spot at the table, her cheeks still felt warm.

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, the textbook was still out of reach.

 

_Curse the textbook, the publisher, whoever is organizing the shelves . . ._

 

This time, instead of waiting for someone to help, Somin dragged a chair to the bookshelf. Standing on it, she was easily able to reach the textbook, but as she tried to pull it off the shelf from where it was wedged between the other textbooks, she felt the chair teeter below her. She forgot about the textbook and her hands reached out to grab the shelf for balance—but she didn’t need to.

 

Someone had already caught her by her waist, steadying her and keeping her from falling.

 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. The chair had already made a loud scraping noise against the bookshelf, and they were in the library after all. With no effort, he placed Somin back down on the floor, and then pushed the chair away to get the textbook himself. Somin could only stare, slightly slack-jawed, as he gave her the textbook she had been trying to reach. “I wouldn’t . . . the chairs here aren’t the newest,” he said, looking pointedly at the one Somin had just used.

 

Though she still felt incapable of having an intellectual conversation, Somin aimed to at least form a coherent sentence. “Oh . . . uh, thank you. Really.” A small laugh escaped her—why was she so awkward? “I think my life flashed before my eyes for a second there.”

 

“Same,” he said with a smile, and before Somin could question why, he held out his hand. “I—uh, I’m Matthew.”

 

She may have stared at his outstretched hand for a second too long while considering, but she nonetheless smiled back, taking his hand to shake. “Somin.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Somin.”

 

The voice was faded, distant, and she almost kept sleeping. But her heart began pounding in fear as a natural reaction, and a second later she recognized the owner of the voice. That thought dragged her out of whatever dream she was having.

 

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the heavy weight of the cuff around her ankle. At least the room wasn’t cold like it had been during those few days.

 

She didn’t want to wake up. She didn’t want to—to help J.Seph with whatever he planned to—

 

But she had to. If she wanted to keep everyone she was close to safe . . . if she wanted to keep Matthew safe, then she knew she’d have to.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um so i felt bad that bm x somin is the main ship and they were literally split apart in chapter 1 ... aLSO IF YOU GUYS HAVE NOT SEEN THEIR COVER OF "THE WAY" BY ARIANA GRANDE DURING THEIR CONCERT YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT BECAUSE I GOT DIABETES FROM THE SWEETNESS (and they have like a slightly different ending at each location like?? how do we deserve them)
> 
> unless my other activities are ridiculous, updates should be about once a week (give or take a few days)


	9. 9

“Protocol?” Matthew almost laughed at Jae’s suggestion. “What protocol?” He resumed pacing the office room. He could feel the stares of the other three members boring into his back as he walked back and forth.

 

Jae took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Okay, so what do we do? Do we assume she’s guil—”

 

“There is _no_ fucking way—”

 

“Matthew, it’s a possibility, all right?” Jiwoo interrupted. Matthew all but glared at her. “And we won’t know anything until we find her, and we get her side of what happened—and we have to decide whether or not we can believe her.”

 

Matthew took a deep breath. There was no point in arguing, because in some corner of his mind he realized they were right; that if this had involved anyone _but_ Somin, he’d be the one saying those same words.

 

None of them were doing much—none of them had had anything to do for the past few days, actually. The days passed uneasily, without enough evidence to analyze, without enough evidence to be able to sleep. It was almost the end of the week again, but they had gotten no new information.

 

Matthew had gotten tired of doing nothing and had started pacing the room to try to clear his mind . . . not that it was actually helping. Jiwoo and Kevin, by the time Matthew had arrived at the office that Sunday evening, had gone back to the lab to get the results double-checked, but it was definite beyond a doubt. Under the Resident Registration Act, all Korean citizens, upon reaching the age of 17, were issued a national ID card. Part of the process to get the ID card involved getting fingerprinted. Police usually checked through the criminal fingerprint records first, but Matthew supposed it made sense for them to request Somin’s as well—she was involved in one way, so why not in another?

 

But it made _no sense_. Somin? . . . _Murdering_ someone?

 

The memory of Somin being dragged away by her hair flashed through his mind again, and Matthew winced. He knew Somin, and he knew that there was no way she would have committed a crime—a _murder_ —of her own free will.

 

Hell, she hadn’t even had the heart to hold a grudge against Hongbin for nearly killing her in that accident, justifying that at least she was still alive; her killing someone else was out of the question.

 

And then there was Hongbin’s outburst, his sudden claim that he had actually saved her. Matthew didn’t even know where to begin in analyzing that, but reminded of Hongbin’s statement that bringing it up would make it worse, Matthew pushed the thought to the back of his mind—he’d deal with that later, when he could be sure that Somin was safe.

 

It was already Friday—soon, it would have been two weeks,  _two whole weeks_ since—

 

“Okay,” Kevin said, walking up to the board. “Let’s go over what we have so far.” On the board were scattered the numerous pictures and corresponding descriptions. While there were arrows connecting each piece of information, at the same time none of it seemed connected.

 

“We have Choi Jinhyung, the first victim in this possibly connected string of murders. Found Saturday—” glancing at Matthew— “same day that Somin was kidnapped.” Matthew stiffened, but didn’t react. These were just facts. “Stabbed to death.”

 

“Lee Sunghun. The second victim, found in the same car in the same location that Somin was kidnapped. Shot in the head at another location and brought to this one.” He pointed to the corresponding photos as he talked.

 

“Third victim, Ahn Hyunsuk. Found in Daejung Offices; cause of death—poisoning. Originally only weakly linked to this case, but with Somin’s fingerprints at the scene, a strong connection.”

 

“Fourth victim . . . Heo Youngji. Found in Daejung Offices . . . beaten and possibly tortured—” At Matthew’s expression, Kevin skipped that part. “She used to work at Sangchul Medical, and she was close friends with Somin.”

 

Kevin turned to face all of them. “The main connection between all these cases is . . . well, Somin.”

 

Matthew finally stopped pacing and took a seat at his desk. “It’s also J.Seph.” When everyone turned to him, he explained, “Choi was working at Sangchul Medical. Lee was probably hired to murder Choi, and it was probably related to those drugs he was stealing, so again—Sangchul Medical. Yo—Y—” Matthew cleared his throat. “She was working there.”

 

“And Ahn?” Jae asked.

 

Matthew paused, but Jiwoo stepped in. “There was an official convention that day, similar to the fake one that Youngji was attending when she was killed. Though we can’t rule out other possibilities, it’s highly likely that this was a medical convention, especially since the man was poisoned . . .”

 

“Do we know what convention that was?” Matthew asked, and Jae got up to get the related file. He flipped through the first few pages and then paused.

 

“What do ya know,” he said quietly. “Sangchul Medical. It was for new drugs that were devel—wait, it’s the same description as the fake convention Youngji was attending.” He looked up, meeting Matthew’s eyes.

 

Matthew blinked at him, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, his eyes still closed.

 

Then he snapped his eyes open, some of the pieces clicking into places. “Someone could have known about that first convention . . . then the same person . . . the _same person_ could have called her about the fake convention. The same description—it would have made sense, especially if she had known about the other convention . . . she might not have carefully checked the date of the official one, so she wouldn’t have remembered if this was the same one or if it was different.”

 

“So she goes, expecting others to be there, expecting it to be real, and she’s in for a surprise when that’s not the case,” Jiwoo finished, realization dawning on her face.

 

Jae frowned. “But _why_? That’s basically a trap, set out just for her—why?”

 

They had no answer for that. Some pieces were in place, but the bigger picture was still a mystery.

 

Matthew ran his hand through hair. “I . . . I’ll call Hongbin.” He had completely forgotten about calling to check up on him, and now he actually had a more pressing reason to call. “Ask when Youngji told him about the convention . . . or when she got the call . . . we need to check her call history too.”

 

They quickly got moving, getting up from the chairs they had pulled up around the board to return to their desks. Matthew got out his phone, intending to call Hongbin, but then he almost dropped it in surprise when it started vibrating. His eyes widened slightly as he saw who was calling him: Hongbin.

 

Only momentarily flustered, Matthew hit answer. “Hongbin, I was just about to—”

 

“ _Matthew_!” When Hongbin cut him off, his voice was full of so much alarm that Matthew couldn’t bring himself to respond for a few seconds. “Matthew, oh my god, oh my fucking god, Somin’s here, we found her—”

 

Matthew sat up straighter in his chair, his heart suddenly pounding. “Hongbin, _breathe_. Slow down. _What_ about Somin?” He could hear the other activity in the room come to a stop.

 

“ _Somin is here_. She—the cul-de-sac—it’s the same place—I called the police already—”

 

One of the phones in the office rang, and Kevin answered. His eyes went wide. “They found Somin. She’s alive. Same location as Lee.”

 

Matthew didn’t need any more information. He all but ran out of the office room with keys in hand, the others following him.

 

 

 

 

 

They found Somin. _They found Somin_.

 

Somin was alive. She was alive, she was alive, she was _alive_ —

 

He had to force himself to slow down as he entered the gated community, but as soon as he parked near the entrance to the cul-de-sac, he ran out of the car, toward the few officers at the far edge of the cul-de-sac. Matthew had been driving so fast that he had reached the location just as many of the other emergency responders were arriving.

 

The paramedics weren’t there yet, but Somin would have to be taken to the hospital, and as much as he hated that place he wished they would get here faster so that they could get her looked over—what if she was hurt— _if she was fucking hurt_ —

 

Matthew pushed his way past the first few officers on the scene. There were two officers crouched down next to Somin; the male officer was holding her right hand, keeping track of her pulse, and the female officer was sitting down to help elevate Somin’s head and shoulders. Matthew stood still, unable to do much more than just look at Somin.

 

She was here. He had forced himself to stick to the belief that he would see her again, but even though he would never admit it to himself, there had always been that stray thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t again see her alive. Especially after witnessing what Hongbin was going through . . . the fear became more persistent, increasingly harder to avoid.

 

Except she was here, and she was alive.

 

As if feeling the weight of Matthew’s gaze, the female officer looked up, and upon recognizing Matthew, she drew the attention of the other officer. With a quick glance at Matthew, he shifted over, indicating for Matthew to take his spot.

 

Matthew could feel his hand shaking, but he carefully, gently took Somin’s hand, placing two fingers on the inside of her wrist.

 

Her pulse was there. It was weak, but it was there, and he let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding.

 

“Somin,” he breathed out, almost inaudibly.

 

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, opening just barely before closing again.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Even as she stood, Somin tried to massage her ankle with her other foot, sure that the cuff had left its mark. The weightlessness on that foot from the absence of the cuff felt foreign. J.Seph entered the room again, and she quickly resumed her standing position near the kitchen island.

 

There was a faint smile on his face as he saw Somin standing exactly how he left her. He held up the ring he had just gotten from the other room, and taking Somin’s right hand, placed it on her index finger. It was a plain greyish band, almost half a centimeter in width, and glinted dully in the light. It was thicker than she expected a normal ring to be. Her eyes followed the ring on her hand as he dropped her hand back to her side, and then J.Seph drew her attention upward, back to him.

 

“And the consequences for not accomplishing this task?”

 

Somin swallowed, her throat going dry at the mere thought. But J.Seph was staring at her pointedly, and she knew she’d have to answer. She cleared her throat. “You . . . you’ll hurt more people.” _More people I care about._

 

“Do you remember anyone in particular?”

 

Somin closed her eyes and took a slow breath, hoping to keep her voice steady. “M-Matthew.”

 

“So you know what you’ll have to do, yes?”

 

She nodded in affirmation, but after noticing his expression from the corner of her eye Somin said, out loud, “Yes.”

 

“Good, that’s good.” J.Seph’s voice was light, revealing nothing of the pressure he was placing on her, the _torture_ he was putting her through. But that’s how he always was. Somin barely flinched as he tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I knew I could count on you.”

 

His hand ghosted over her shoulders as he walked behind her, but Somin stood still, her face blank. She wouldn’t crack.

 

He stopped when he had completed a full circle around her. His face was at her ear, and she couldn’t see his expression. “Think twice before fucking up. Don’t make me regret keeping you alive,” J.Seph said, his voice soft.

 

She couldn’t afford to crack. “I won’t.”

 

It was the right answer. In response, J.Seph pressed a light kiss to her cheek. Somin was past the point of jerking away. In fact, she felt a wave of relief wash over her, since it meant she didn’t have to deal with whatever the consequences were today for answering wrong.

 

Somin couldn’t remember what exactly happened after that, but she did clearly remember the sudden, striking pain in her neck, and the memory of the car ride so long ago with the man that was now dead flashed through her mind, and then it was dark.

 

 

 

 

 

It was cold. She could feel the ground through her clothes, but she couldn’t move yet. Every part of her felt too heavy, as if it were lead running through her veins instead of blood, weighing her down. She could feel her hair shielding her face, though, and she was grateful for the little warmth it provided.

 

The passing of time was lost on her, but eventually she could feel footsteps approaching, and when she focused she heard a familiar voice. “No . . . oh god . . . Somin?” The footsteps sped up and then stopped, and she felt the lightest of touches push her hair out of her face.

 

Her head started pounding then, and suddenly she wasn’t there . . . but she was still _there_.

 

She was on the ground, but it wasn’t cold.

 

It was hot, uncomfortably so, as if she were too close to the fireplace. Though she still couldn’t move, she could open her eyes this time, and despite the night sky it was unnaturally bright, especially right in front of her—

 

The car. It was crushed, broken, bent beyond repair and still on fire. The flames were twirling as they rose above the remains of the car, the frame deteriorating a little more every time Somin managed to open her eyes. It was beautiful, the way the fire seemed to be dancing, tendrils of flame jumping out to go further, to reach higher. Even as it was of destruction, the sight was elegant and mesmerizing, and Somin could only stare, not move.

 

And then she felt the footsteps, the same footsteps, and she heard the same familiar voice. _“Holy fuck . . . Somin?”_ The same footsteps came closer, and the same touch—the same light, fleeting touch—and the same voice— _“Somin, can you hear me?”_

 

“Somin, can you hear me?”

 

 _“An accident . . . my friend, she’s here—I don’t know—It was a car accident. An explosion, I think? It’s—it's on fire . . . yeah, we’re near—we’re near the library, the park on the far side, I—I can’t remember—she’s bleeding, please, can you—Somin! Somin,_ please _, stay awake, open your eyes—”_

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, holy fuck—” Something dropped, and it was loud but she still couldn’t move. “I need help. My—my friend, she’s a—she was kidnapped, but now she’s here, she’s unconscious, she’s—yes, it’s near my house, the cul-de-sac near . . .”

 

Somin’s head _hurt_ , both events playing through her mind like she was watching two movies simultaneously. It was too much, and she slipped out again, welcoming the relief providing by the darkness.

 

The sound of the sirens brought her back out, and though she still felt too weak to move, her limbs felt a little lighter. Someone took her wrist, and someone else slowly shifted her so her head was raised. It felt better, but Somin was still so _tired_.

 

And then the person at her hand shifted. Someone else was holding her wrist.

 

“Somin.”

 

That voice, she would know that voice anywhere, but it had been so long, she couldn’t believe it—she had to see—

 

Using every last bit of conscious determination she could muster, Somin opened her eyes.

 

She opened them just barely, and she had to close them again—her eyelids were too heavy—but her heart jumped in recognition, in _relief_ , and if she had been able to she would have cried.

 

 _Matthew_.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe angst *cackles*


	10. 10

Matthew had been reluctant to let go of Somin’s hand even as the paramedics came. As much as he wanted to accompany her in the ambulance, he knew that space would be limited and he didn’t want to get in the way, especially since he didn’t think he’d be able to let go of her if she was that close.

 

He watched as the doors closed behind her and the ambulance sped away, and as worried as he was, a small part of him was relieved that he wouldn’t have to step inside a hospital quite yet.

 

He felt someone pat him once on the shoulder and glanced over to see Jae, who was also watching as the ambulance turned the corner and went out of sight. “She’ll be fine.”

 

But from his voice, Matthew could tell that Jae wanted to say something more and was restraining himself. The moment had to pass either way, Matthew decided, and he turned fully to face Jae. “What is it?”

 

Jae took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Protocol?”

 

Right. Matthew sighed, looking back momentarily to the point where the ambulance disappeared. Protocol . . . or their complete lack of, for this situation.

 

“We’ll let her recover first, of course,” Jae said quickly. “But after that . . .”

 

There really wasn’t another choice, especially if he wanted to stay on this case—he’d have to main impartiality as best as he could. “We should, well, go in order,” Matthew said. “First get her official statement on what happened.” He cleared his throat. “When she’s ready. And for the . . . for the Ahn case—”

 

“We’ll make a plan for that later,” Jiwoo interrupted. Matthew hadn’t noticed her approaching, but he was grateful for her interjection. He didn’t think he would’ve been able to finish his sentence. “Her involvement in the Ahn case happened while she was still, as far as we know, kidnapped. So we listen to her statement first—that might answer some questions.”

 

“Better than what I had in mind,” Matthew said, throwing Jiwoo a slight smile. The last thing he wanted was for Somin to have to go through an interrogation after all that had happened. Discussing her ordeal should have to be enough.

 

Jiwoo smiled back, and Matthew noted that it was the first time he had seen her show an actual positive emotion. Her smile lasted barely a second though. “I’ve dealt with a few cases like this before,” she admitted, folding her arms over her chest. “The statement usually answers everything, and she probably won’t have to deal with an interrogation.”

 

“Thank god,” Matthew said, breathing out a sigh of relief. They both started walking out of the cul-de-sac, toward where the other cop cars were parked, Matthew’s SUV being the most haphazardly parked of them all.

 

Matthew glanced sideways at Jiwoo. He knew little to nothing about her, and his curiosity was piqued—this was the first time she had volunteered any sort of information. “So,” Matthew began as they kept walking at a relaxed, unhurried pace. “The other cases you’ve dealt with. How did they go?”

 

Jiwoo gave a slight shrug. “Well, none of them were exactly like this . . . this is pretty one of a kind, I’d say.” Matthew chuckled at that, finally able to take a joke about it since it was over. “But sometimes they’d make the victim do—” uncrossing her arms and gesturing vaguely in the air— “strange things. It was pretty fucked up, but the victim would go ahead and do it—all to stay alive, or protect any loved ones.” At Matthew’s confused look, she explained, “The kidnapper would threaten those close to the victim, whether they could actually carry out the threat or not. The victim wouldn’t know better, and it _is_ a kidnapping case . . . the victim has the benefit of the doubt, and usually they’re excused.”

 

“That . . . that makes sense.” Matthew was relieved—then it all depended on Somin’s official statement.

 

Jiwoo seemed to know where his thoughts were going. She slowed down, coming to a stop before they reached the entrance of the cul-de-sac. “Matthew . . .” Her shoulders rose and fell as she sighed. “The statement won’t be pleasant.”

 

Matthew nodded. “I wouldn’t expect it to be.”

 

“No, I mean—what I’m trying to say is that maybe you shouldn’t be there.”

 

Matthew laughed, rolling his eyes as he did so. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way I _won’t_ be there,” he said. His laughter died as he saw Jiwoo’s still serious expression.

 

“I don’t know if you usually deal with kidnappings,” Jiwoo started, maintaining eye contact with Matthew. “At least ones in which the victim is found alive, since from the case files I’ve seen in your office it seems like you only deal with the aftermath. Here,” she said, tilting her head toward where Somin was found, “we have a live victim.”

 

“I know what people can do,” Matthew said, equally serious. “At least she’s alive.”

 

“But now she’ll be the one telling us what happened. It won’t be just a case report where we read about what happened, or the perpetrator tells us.” Jiwoo’s voice had an edge to it, like she was trying hard to keep her volume down. “She—the victim—is telling us herself.”

 

Matthew suppressed a shudder. He didn’t need to be reminded that Somin was a victim. “Yes, I know—”

 

“Maybe, but you don’t _understand_.” Jiwoo let out an exasperated sigh. “There are more emotions involved, dammit!” It was another first—Jiwoo raising her voice. Matthew was too taken aback to interrupt. “When you read a report or hear it from who did it, you don’t know how the victim felt. As much as you can try to imagine it, you will never know exactly how the victim felt.”

 

Jiwoo pushed her hair behind her ears. They could feel the wind more, now that they were far from the tree coverage around the inside of the cul-de-sac, and the front parts of hair had escaped her ponytail. “Your other cases might have been more horrific, more brutal, but it’s different when you hear the victim talk about it. When you hear what she went through _straight from her_ . . .” She took a deep breath, calming herself down. Her voice was back to normal when she spoke again. “It’ll be hard to control your emotions if you’re right there.”

 

Matthew rubbed the back of his neck. “I . . . I understand, don’t get me wrong.” Though he’d admit that he had never thought about the effects of victims relating their experiences directly; now that he had, he could feel uneasiness settling in the pit of his stomach. “I just—I don’t think I’d be able to stay away even if I tried.”

 

Though she pursed her lips in dissatisfaction, Jiwoo nodded. She started walking again, and Matthew kept up with her. After a few moments of silence, Jiwoo said, “I don’t blame you. I wasn’t able to stay away either . . .” Matthew listened, not prodding for more information. “And I don’t regret it. But I wasn’t prepared.” She glanced at Matthew. “Just . . . take a stress ball.”

 

Despite the topic, Matthew felt the urge to laugh at the unexpectedness of that. He toned it down and gave an appreciative smile. “Will do.”

 

As they finally reached the cul-de-sac entrance, Matthew noticed someone he had forgotten he needed to talk to.

 

“Hongbin!”

 

Jiwoo left to talk to Jae while Matthew walked to where Hongbin was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, head in his hands. Hongbin looked up as Matthew approached. He looked like he was in no condition to stand, so Matthew took a seat next to him on the sidewalk.

 

“Sorry about the call,” Hongbin said after a few beats of silence. “I must’ve worried you, I don’t think I said anything about her being—of her being _alive_ —”

 

“Hongbin, it’s fine—”

 

“I realized what it must’ve sounded like only after you hung up.” He let out a nervous laugh.

 

“Hey, it’s _fine_. She’s back, that’s what matters.” Then Matthew cringed as he remembered that Hongbin couldn’t say the same about Youngji.

 

Hongbin didn’t seem to think too deeply into it like Matthew had. “Right,” he said. He laughed again, the sound more airy and loose. “I felt my heart stop, I swear, when I saw her on the ground like that. She . . . she looked d-dead.”

 

Matthew froze. He mentally repeated Hongbin’s call. “Wait . . . _you_ found her?” Hongbin seemed to stiffen slightly, and Matthew wondered if his tone was too accusatory. He should be thanking Hongbin, not scaring him. He softened his tone. “How did you—how did you know?”

 

Hongbin relaxed a little, and Matthew felt slightly guilty. “It was all chance,” he said quietly, looking at the asphalt road in front of them. “I don’t sleep much nowadays . . .” Hongbin didn’t need to explain; Matthew could guess why. “So I heard a car driving by. It was _way_ too loud, probably going way over the limit . . . I didn’t hear it coming back this way, so I thought maybe someone—the driver got hurt. ’Cause the exit is usually this way—” gesturing toward his house— “and the other way is longer and kinda convoluted.”

 

He shrugged. “I decided—‘Why not? I’m gonna sleep either way, so I might as well make sure no one got hurt while I can.’ So I left to check it out, and I passed the cul-de-sac just to look farther but I didn’t see anything . . . on the way back I just felt—I just wanted to see the place again. Where this—this whole mess—” He rubbed his forehead. “Where it began. And there was Somin.”

 

Matthew was listening with wide eyes. “Wow,” was all he managed. There were so many what ifs. What if Hongbin had still been able to sleep, like he would have before Youngji’s death; what if he didn’t hear that car noise; what if he had decided it wasn’t worth checking out; what if he hadn’t walked far enough to notice Somin . . .

 

Though it was almost spring, the weather still felt like winter. It was cold, especially at night, and left outside with the elements . . . he didn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened to her.

 

A car pulled to a stop in front of them. Matthew looked up, and the window rolled down. It was Jiwoo. “I’m heading to the hospital,” she said.

 

Matthew stood up. “I’ll follow,” he said.

 

Jiwoo rolled up her window and drove off, and Matthew glanced at Hongbin, who just shook his head. “I’ll stop by later . . . I think I need to sleep on this.”

 

With that, Matthew headed to his SUV, ignoring the annoyed looks from the officers that were forced to park farther away due to his inability to park normally.

 

 

 

 

 

The hospital was just as uncomfortable as Matthew remembered it. He knew they were generally white for various reasons, but in his mind the color was harsh and unforgiving rather than calming.

 

He followed the signs on the wall to find the ICU, and finding no one that he recognized, he went to the nurse that was at the front desk near the entrance doors. He was glad he said he was Somin’s significant other—the wording was more formal than ‘boyfriend’, and this nurse seemed to be particularly stringent about hospital policy so she might not have let him through.

 

Matthew quickly found his way to Somin’s room, but once right outside he hesitated. Jiwoo’s words echoed through his mind, and suddenly he was afraid of what he could see. While it had been dark outside and he had just barely been able to see her face, the bright lights of the hospital wouldn’t let anything hide.

 

The moment passed, and Matthew gathered his thoughts enough to push the door open. Jiwoo was already there, and she turned around at the sound, standing up from the chair next to the hospital bed.

 

“They let you in?” Matthew asked.

 

Jiwoo nodded. “I said I was her sister, and that I called ‘our’ parents.” She had a small smile on her face, but it fell shortly. “I did call her parents, though.”

 

Her parents. Of course.

 

“I’ll call Jae,” Jiwoo said, effectively excusing herself from the room. She gave Matthew a careful look. “I’ll be around the lobby if you need anything.”

 

Matthew nodded, and then he was left alone. He finally looked toward the bed.

 

The Somin that was there on the bed was very different from the Somin that was at the party two weeks ago. Her dark circles were much more pronounced, and her face was noticeably gaunt.

 

He picked up the chart hanging on the end of Somin’s bed to check her weight. _42_ _kg. Much too thin_ , he thought, looking back at Somin. Putting the chart back, he walked back around and sank into the chair beside the bed.

 

Careful not to disturb any of the tubes or wires, Matthew took her hand, clasping it between his as gently as he could, and slowly the mental defense he had put up began to crumble. He stopped looking at the whole situation like an officer, and finally, he let himself be just Matthew.

 

For two weeks, he had had no idea where Somin was, or what she was going through, especially after the man that had taken her was found dead. Then they had found her fingerprints in a crime scene, and for the near week after that, Matthew could only guess at what Somin was being forced to do . . . still, he was grateful. Not only for the fact that she was found, but that she was found _alive_ , and that she was in a state from which, with enough care, she could be brought back.

 

But she was in a hospital bed again, something he had promised her she’d never have to go through after the last time. And this time, he had practically put her there, since he just stood by while she had been taken. Had he done something, _anything_ , then she wouldn’t have been here; she would have been at their apartment, and she would have been with him. Healthy. Safe.

 

She must have been scared, those two weeks. While Matthew was busy dealing with her case and others, she was alone, or with some monster that could have done anything to her—

 

Matthew took in a shaky breath, gently squeezing her hand, as if to confirm that she was, in fact, here. She was alive.

 

He began to speak, despite knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hear him. He had to tell her, he would tell her again and again.

 

“ _I’m sorry_. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry for letting this happen to you. I’m sorry for not being able to keep you safe. I’m sorry . . . for not being with you when you needed me.

 

“I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but you’re so strong, for making it through this, and even though I wasn’t able to protect you, I’ll help you heal, and I’ll never leave your side. I promise.” Matthew laughed brokenly. “I know you might not think much of my promises after this, but . . . this one I’ll keep, no matter what it takes.”

 

He was choking up, so he had to pause. After a moment, he released a small breath, and kissed her hand softly. “I love you so much, Somin.”

 

As Matthew looked at her face again, he felt his emotions threaten to overtake him, but he quickly pushed those thoughts out of his head. She was _not_ here because of him; she was here because some bastard did this to her. He couldn’t afford to sink into depression by blaming himself, because even though he wasn’t able to protect her, now was not the time to wallow in guilt—he had to help her get through this, first through all the police procedures and then through all the other aftereffects she probably had.

 

He heard someone clear his throat behind him, and he jumped slightly, turning around to see Jiwoo standing in the doorway. He didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but before he could do something awkward like ask her, she spoke up. “Her parents will be up here soon, along with her sister—I guess Hongbin already called them before I did. Just thought I’d tell you before they ran in here.”

 

Matthew nodded, standing up. He knew her parents, so him being there shouldn’t be a problem, but he also knew they would want some time alone with Somin. He didn’t want to take that away from them.

 

“You headed to the station?”

 

Jiwoo nodded. “Analyzing security cams from around there.”

 

“I’ll come with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

The security footage only confirmed Hongbin’s story—there was a car driving recklessly through the neighborhood, and though it did seem to take the back exit that Hongbin had called ‘convoluted’, the driver must’ve been the one to drop Somin off at the cul-de-sac. But that brought up more questions than answers.

 

“We won’t find anything,” Jae said as Kevin replayed the footage. “The video’s too blurry to get a read on the number plate, so no way to identify them.”

 

“Blurry or not,” Jiwoo said, “the plate was probably covered. So no way to identify them period.”

 

“But they had to be involved somehow, if they found her in the first place. Otherwise, what are the odds? And why leave her like that?” Matthew said, rubbing his eyes. It was too dark in the room for them to be staring at a computer screen, but none of them were willing to leave the computer to turn on the lights.

 

They watched the footage again, a silence falling over them, the same scene playing of a black SUV careening around the corner as it turned too fast and continued to race down the street.

 

It vaguely reminded him of the black car that the man, Lee, had been driving when he had kidnapped her. And then that turned out to be the same vehicle in which he was found dead, parked in the same location—

 

Matthew’s eyes snapped open. “Fuck. It’s all connected.” He stood up, running a hand through his hair.

 

“What do you mean?” Jiwoo asked carefully, at the same time that Jae asked, “To what?”

 

“Her kidnapping. Finding her. They’re connected. It’s a fucking game.” Matthew pulled at his hair, angry with himself for not seeing it sooner.

 

She was found in the same location. Even Hongbin had been saying that, Matthew realized, when he had called. The same fucking location.

 

And then there were the fingerprints. It must have been on purpose, not only to connect Ahn to this case, but also to serve as a message that Somin was alive. _Playing a game_.

 

This was all a game, and any relief that Matthew had had since Somin was found became quickly tainted by an overwhelming sense of unease and apprehension.

 

She was back, yes. But he had a sinking feeling that she still wasn’t safe . . . and he had promised her that he would keep her safe.

 

He was not about to break another promise.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 42 kg = 92.5 lb  
> Somin’s usual weight (according to the internet??): 45 kg = 99.2 lb
> 
> (even if these are wrong we're gonna go with these ok? ok)
> 
> looks like a lot of you expected the story to be over whenever somin was found ... guys, the fun just started *laughs*


	11. 11

Heading back to the hospital was the last thing Matthew wanted to do, but he didn’t have much of a choice since being apart from Somin was also not high on his list of priorities. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t even on his list of priorities—and never would be—and that’s how Matthew found himself back in the hospital.

 

As Matthew drove around to find parking, Jae was in the passenger seat, talking on the phone. At one point he turned to Matthew. “Maybe you should skip coming back to the station, take a—”

 

“No.”

 

Jae sighed, and went back to talking on the phone. “I tried, and I’m not trying again. I feel _threatened_ , man!”

 

Matthew didn’t have the energy to laugh.

 

They walked into the hospital, and before they could navigate to the ICU—Jae to take Jiwoo’s place in watching over Somin, and Matthew to talk to Somin’s family—someone stopped them. Matthew almost snapped at her before he realized who he was looking at.

 

“Director Park!” he said, and Jae looked up from his phone. Both gave her a small bow in greeting, and both were very put off by her unexpected appearance.

 

Director Park nodded her head slightly to greet them. “Knew it was you. It’s been a whirlwind of a few days.”

 

“That would be an understatement,” Matthew said with a humorless laugh. After Somin was found Friday night, the media finally had a chance to run the story by Saturday morning, and as the day passed the spotlight had only grown larger on this case.

 

The director nodded in agreement, and then she looked down at the files she was carrying. “I would update you about Somin’s situation, but I don’t think I’m the best authority to explain. Dr. Han Seungyeon is the doctor that will be responsible for Somin for the duration of her stay, and I believe she’s still in the ICU. Here,” she said, handing the files over to Matthew. “Just bring them to the station when you come back, but these are the copies she gave me . . .”

 

“Thank you,” Matthew said.

 

Director Park looked at him with sad eyes, as if she wanted to say something more. But the moment passed, and she smiled. “I would accompany you, but I do have to get going to make sure the media doesn’t have too much fun. Take care, Mr. Kim.” With a smile, she departed.

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Han stepped out of Somin’s room just as Matthew and Jae approached. Jiwoo was still inside, so Jae stepped in to take her place. Though the hospital did have its security and the police force was providing some extra since this was a kidnapping case, Matthew felt more comfortable with people he trusted keeping a watch on Somin until she at least woke up.

 

“I take it that you’re Mr. Kim?”

 

“Yes. Dr. Han, right?”

 

“Yes,” the doctor said, smiling. “Well, Mr. Kim, though you probably would’ve been able to get the details through the department anyway since you’re on this case, I’ve also gotten permission from Somin’s family to discuss her situation with you directly.”

 

Matthew nodded, eager to find out more about what was going on.

 

“Her toxicology screen results came in, and she tested positive for oxycodone hydrochloride.”

 

Matthew went very still. “Oxycontin.” The opioid pain medication in which the active ingredient was oxycodone. Legal, yes, but ridiculously difficult to get a prescription.

 

Though he hadn’t wanted to think about it, he had expected sedatives to be in her system. It was a kidnapping case, after all. But such a _powerful_ narcotic . . . Matthew felt all the color leave his face.

 

He heard the doctor’s voice faintly, as if from a distance. “Yes, most likely. The levels in her blood are alarmingly high . . . hypotension and bradycardia are being addressed, but she’s not in any danger of circulatory collapse or respiratory arrest. She seems to be stable, we’re just waiting for the sedative to work its way out of her system. What we’re _worried_ about, though, is the highly addictive properties of Oxycontin. She’s been gone—almost two weeks, correct?”

 

Matthew had to take a moment to breathe. He managed to nod.

 

“Well, if we assume that she’s been drugged the whole time, she’ll begin to face withdrawal symptoms as the remaining medication is flushed out of her system. We’ll keep the detox process gradual—thereby minimizing the symptoms—but we can only wait to see how bad her addiction is.”

 

She paused, giving Matthew some time to process everything. Matthew took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay as an officer. This was a case. It involved Somin, but it was a case.

 

“Any other information?”

 

“Some scabbing on her neck . . . it’ll have to heal a bit more before we can tell what they’re from, but my guess is injections. There’s also some strange bruising around her ankle. It seems sprained, so she might be in a cast for a few days at least. And they did a rape kit on her—”

 

Matthew fell back against the wall. _No, no, no, no. He didn’t want to leave Somin right now, but he’d have to leave her to find and kill the person responsible._

 

“It was negative!” Dr. Han said quickly, reassuring him. “ _Negative_. The drug would generally leave her unconscious, especially at the doses it seems to have been administered at, so we wanted to make sure.”

 

“I—” He cleared his throat, but he could feel the start of a headache. Just knowing that she must have been unconscious most of the time, at the mercy of whoever had her—

 

She was fine. She would be fine.

 

“Thank you,” Matthew said.

 

“We’ll do our best. She’s in good hands now, don’t worry. All she has to do is pull through.”

 

As the doctor left, Matthew collapsed into one of the chairs in the hallway, and he heard Jiwoo step out. Matthew suspected that she’d been waiting for an appropriate moment.

 

“How are you?” she asked quietly, taking a seat next to Matthew.

 

He didn’t think ‘ _fine_ ’ was what she was looking for. He rubbed his face and glanced at her. “Okay. Better than a few days ago.”

 

Jiwoo frowned. “You don’t sound sure about that.” When Matthew didn’t respond, she said, “If you need to say something, I’ll hear you out.”

 

“It’s fine, really, I—I just—” Matthew sighed and focused his attention onto the floor. “I don’t know. The doctor, she was—she explained what they found. Oxycontin, alarming levels, so she could’ve been—been _drugged_ the whole two weeks.”

 

Jiwoo only nodded, listening, and Matthew couldn’t stop himself from continuing.

 

“She’s probably gone through so much, and the worst part is—does she even know? She said—the doctor said Somin would’ve been unconscious most of the time. What if she doesn’t even remember what happened? What happens to the investigation, to whoever kidnapped her in the first place? What happens to the Ahn case?” He took a slow breath. “What if she blames me for this?” And then a more upsetting thought passed through his mind. “What if . . . will she hate me for this?”

 

As he dropped his head into his hands, he felt Jiwoo hesitantly pat him on the shoulder. “There . . . was _nothing_ you could do, in that moment, other than what you did. She’s pulling through, and that’s what’s—”

 

Jae nearly slammed the door to Somin’s room open, and his glasses looked like they were about to fall off, with the speed at which he must have gotten to the door. “She’s moving.”

 

Matthew stood up immediately, all but running into the room. He pulled one of the chairs closer to the bed.

 

“I was talking—I think it was about the ramen, and how you literally cannot cook for your life, and I _swear_ she moved, she—ow! Okay, okay, I’ll shut up,” Jae muttered, and in the momentary glance that Matthew spared him, he noticed that Jae was rubbing his arm while glaring at Jiwoo.

 

But that wasn’t his priority. Matthew looked back at Somin, and he carefully took Somin’s hand in his own. He could hear the heart monitor speed up, the beeps getting faster if only slightly. “Somin. Somin, this is Matthew . . . If you can hear me, try to squeeze my hand.”

 

He waited, and for a few seconds the only movement in the room was Jiwoo dragging Jae outside, muttering something about privacy and how Jae needed to learn about it. Then, he felt the faintest flick of her fingers. He smiled, relief bringing him near tears.

 

“I knew I wouldn’t lose you. Can you open your eyes for me? I promise it’s not too bright.”

 

Her eyelids fluttered, slowly at first. Then, after a few weak blinks, she opened them fully, and her eyes darted around the room before focusing on Matthew.

 

His heart pounded, and he realized that, for the first time, he couldn’t read her eyes.

 

And then the stray thoughts came crashing in. _What if she blames me?_

 

_Does she think this is all my fault? I could’ve done something, if I’d stopped him right there, then—_

 

_Fuck, she probably hates me._

 

Matthew took a deep breath.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

They both blurted out an apology at the same time, and Matthew frowned. “Why . . . why are _you_ sorry?”

 

Somin sniffled slightly, and she visibly swallowed. “Sorry,” she said again, her voice a little raspy. “I—I should’ve listened when you—when you said to skip the party. To forget the gift. To let—”

 

“ _Somin_ ,” Matthew said softly, interrupting her. Clutching her hand tighter while still being careful to avoid inadvertently hurting her, he reached forward to brush some stray hair out of her face. “Somin, _none_ of this was your fault. Listen to me. This was not. Your. Fault.”

 

He sighed. “If anything, it’s my fault, for letting you go out there alone, without—”

 

He stopped talking when he realized the heart monitor was speeding up. Somin was slightly shaking her head, unable to move much more than that because of the wires, but her eyes conveyed everything.

 

“ _No_ ,” she said, coughing lightly. “No, no, if you had—no. This isn’t your fault, Matt.” She looked at him for a few seconds longer, and the heart monitor began to slow down again. Her voice was strained but soft, and Matthew had to lean forward to hear her clearly over the sounds of the machines. Her voice . . . he had missed the sound. “Matt . . . I know that look. _Please_ don’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you for anything. There was _nothing_ you could do in that situation.”

 

_You don’t blame Hongbin, either._

 

But Matthew smiled, hoping he kept the regret off his face.

 

 

 

 

 

The next few days were a blur. While Matthew was in the hospital with Somin, they avoided the topic of her abduction like it was the plague; when they talked, they talked about the newest album releases, the latest episodes of the drama Somin was watching, or they just quietly enjoyed each other’s presence, though Matthew more than once caught Somin staring at him sadly. When questioned, she would just wave it off, but Matthew felt that there was something more to it.

 

Most of the time, though, her parents and sister were with her, and though Matthew did stay there during some of their visits, he felt that they wanted some time with Somin as a family. After all, when she got out of the hospital, she’d return to the apartment they shared. He didn’t blame her parents for wanting to spend as much time with her as possible.

 

While Somin was with her family, Matthew was at the station, despite not having much work to do. The investigation was at a relative standstill until more evidence could be found, meaning that until Somin gave her statement, there was no way to move forward. And Matthew was _not_ about to force her to deal with that until she was ready, as much as he also wanted to make progress with the investigation.

 

On Wednesday, Dr. Han informed them that Somin would be able to leave the next day. “Her condition is normal, and she hasn’t shown any signs of withdrawal, so my guess is that the oxycodone wasn’t a regular thing. Her tox screen came back negative, so the drug is, for the most part, out of her system,” she had said. “The cast will have to stay on for a few more days, just while she gets used to walking around normally.”

 

Matthew had been relieved, but the same could not be said of Somin.

 

When he told her that she would be discharged on Thursday, she looked up at him with wide eyes. “Tomorrow?” she choked out.

 

Matthew’s smile dropped from his face. “Is something wrong?”

 

The heart monitor was speeding up, and Somin was breathing faster. Matthew stood up, about to call a nurse—was this what Dr. Han had warned him about after Somin had woken up? The doctor had said that, with what Somin had gone through, they shouldn’t be surprised if she had anxiety attacks—did he trigger one?

 

But before he could call a nurse or even begin cursing himself for his stupidity, Somin held up one hand. “Please don’t. Just give me a minute.”

 

Matthew sat back down and waited as, slowly, Somin’s heartbeat and breathing normalized.

 

“I’m fine,” she said, and then she laughed, realizing how lame that sounded. Matthew smiled with her. “I just—I’m nervous, I guess?”

 

“What’s there to be nervous about?”

 

Somin stopped smiling, and she quickly averted her eyes from Matthew’s. “I’ll have to explain what happened, right?” she said quietly, staring at her hands.

 

Matthew felt a strange uneasiness in his gut, but he couldn’t place the cause. Pushing the feeling to the back of his mind, he said, “You won’t have to give your statement right away. We’ll wait till you’re ready, okay?”

 

 

 

 

 

“She shouldn’t have to already, it’s only been—what? A week since we found her? She just got out of the hospital _yesterday_ , for fuck’s sake!” Matthew resisted the urge to pull at his hair, opting to just run his hand through it, messing it up even more. His appearance wasn’t exactly a priority at the moment.

 

That morning, Somin had decided that she was going to go in to give her official statement. Instead of telling Matthew first—which was admittedly a smart move on her part, since Matthew knew he would have outright rejected the idea—she had called Jiwoo directly, which was why Jiwoo was now waiting in the living room for Somin to finish getting ready while Matthew was pacing a hole into the floor.

 

“She said she wants to,” Jiwoo said quietly, watching Matthew from the sofa. “It’s her decision.”

 

“Yeah, well, she’s making the wrong one, isn’t she?”

 

Jiwoo frowned. “What are you really upset about?” she asked suddenly.

 

The question was surprising enough to make Matthew pause and look at her. “What?”

 

“You’ve been pretty good about prioritizing the investigation while also looking out for Somin,” she said. “Technically, even if it’s difficult, this’ll do nothing but give us answers. The way you’re so . . . _against_ it, even when _she_ says she’s ready, just makes me wonder.”

 

“Wonder what?”

 

“That maybe you’re anxious about something else, not just the statement.”

 

Matthew blinked a few times. Before he could even think to formulate a response, Somin stepped out of their bedroom. She studied Matthew curiously, looking between him and Jiwoo, but didn’t say anything. She gave them a small smile, and turning to Jiwoo, said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jiwoo said as she stood up. She started heading toward the door.

 

Somin walked into the living room, to where Matthew was still standing. “You coming?” she asked hesitantly.

 

Matthew sighed. It was Somin’s decision . . . he couldn’t take that choice away from her. “Of course,” he said, holding out his arm for her, and he was rewarded with a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

Somin showed her nervousness only once they had entered the police station. Matthew tried to comfort her by gently squeezing her hand, but he had to let go when they reached the interrogation rooms. He helped her into the chair, but she seemed like she was able to move fine despite the heavy cast.

 

“Just stop if it gets to be too much,” Matthew said quietly. Somin just nodded, keeping her gaze on the table in front of her.

 

Before Matthew could step out of the room, he was stopped by Jiwoo, who held out a small purple ball for him.

 

“A stress ball,” she said.

 

Matthew took it slowly, after internally debating whether or not he would really need it. Then, along with Jae and Kevin, he headed into the smaller room right next to the interrogation room, where they watched through the one-way mirror.

 

“Thank you for coming here today,” Jiwoo started. “I know this must be difficult, being here so soon, but you’re doing a great help.” She opened up her laptop. “Would you like me to address you as Miss Jeon, or do you prefer Somin?”

 

“. . . Somin.”

 

“All right then.” Jiwoo typed something up on the laptop she was using to take notes, and then looked back to Somin. “I want to inform you that this statement is being videotaped for future reference. I am Inspector Jeon Jiwoo, and you are here today on May 12th, 2017, to give your official statement regarding your abduction on the night of April 22nd, 2017. If at any time you feel the need to take a break, or even stop for the day, just let me know. Do you understand?”

 

Somin nodded.

 

“Then let’s begin. Your name?”

 

Somin glanced at her questioningly.

 

“For the official record,” Jiwoo explained.

 

“Jeon Somin.”

 

“Date of birth?”

 

“August 22nd, 1991.”

 

“All right then. On the night of April 22nd, 2017, you were at the home of Heo Youngji and Lee Hongbin. Please describe the events of that night.”

 

Somin swallowed nervously, and Jiwoo said, “Take your time. We’re in no rush.”

 

On their side of the glass, Kevin stood up to stretch, even though it had only just started. It was clear that he was uncomfortable already, just imagining what he would now have to listen to, and it was made worse by the fact that it was a statement by someone he knew. Jae wasn’t doing much better, spinning slightly from right to left in the swivel chair.

 

Somin cleared her throat, then, and Matthew shifted his attention to the screens showing what was going on in the other room. He didn’t think he could stand watching her directly.

 

“They were hosting a party that night,” Somin began. “Youngji had gotten a job at Sangchul Medical a few days ago, so it was to celebrate . . .” She trailed off, sniffling.

 

Jiwoo realized that guiding questions may be easier. “The information we have is that you were invited, along with Matthew Kim, your boyfriend. Is this right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The party was held . . . indoors?”

 

“Yes, it was indoors.”

 

“It is our understanding that you were outdoors when you were abducted. What led you to leave the house?”

 

Somin grimaced slightly. “We’d brought a gift, and I forgot it in the car—it was cold outside, so I just wanted to get in the house . . .”

 

 _No, don’t blame yourself._ We _forgot the gift, I was there too . . ._

 

“I was going back to the car to get it. The gift was in the backseat, on the driver side—Matthew had brought it to the car—so I walked over to that side and saw the m-man. He—” Her eyes darted up. “Is he alive? The man by the car, he was bleeding, I thought he—”

 

Jiwoo shook her head, her expression grim, and Somin cut herself off. “Oh.” She exhaled slowly. “I saw him, I was about to scream and run back inside, and then the other man grabbed me before I could . . . I didn’t see him, I guess he was hiding. Waiting for me to leave.

 

“I tried to push him away, but that didn’t work . . . I managed to take my phone out of my purse, and then I threw my purse away, over the car, in case he was after the money, but that wasn’t the case, and he was dragging me to where the car was . . . He took my phone and threw it to the ground when he noticed it. I just—I kept trying to get away, but he was too strong, I couldn’t—” Somin broke off in mid-sentence, looking down at her lap.

 

“Hey, you’re doing great,” Jiwoo said, her voice kind. “Do you want to take a break?”

 

After a moment, Somin shook her head. Clearing her throat, she began again. “Then Matthew was there. I thought he would let me go, since Matthew saw him . . . but he put a knife to my throat and told Matthew not to move any closer. Then he made me get in the car, through the driver side, and I couldn’t move with the knife there—he drove all the way out of the neighborhood while holding the knife.

 

“After a while he stopped somewhere, I think just on the side of the road, and he . . .” Somin furrowed her brow, as if trying to remember. Her hand reached up to the side of her neck. “A tranquilizer. He took out a tranquilizer, and that’s how he kept me unconscious, I guess.”

 

 _The scabs. The injections—they were tranquilizers. And there were multiple scabs, which would mean—_ Matthew was suddenly very grateful for the stress ball.

 

“I . . . I don’t remember much about the drive. I think I woke up a few times, but I was tied up by that point, and he’d keep knocking me out with the tranquillizers . . . and then we finally arrived somewhere. When I woke up, we were in the garage of the building, and then he took me to the elevator.”

 

Matthew leaned forward in his chair. _Where was she those two weeks?_

 

Somin shuddered involuntarily, but quickly recollected herself. “Everything was hazy, and I couldn’t focus clearly . . . but in the end he took me into a room, and he was talking to . . .” She took a deep breath. “The man who took me, he had told the other man he’d bring something, but the other man seemed surprised that it was _me_ , a person, and not just a _thing_ . . . but then he decided he didn’t want to kill me.”

 

“Matthew?”

 

Jae’s voice snapped Matthew out of his reverie. When Matthew turned to him, Jae said, “Do _you_ need to take a break?”

 

Matthew frowned. “No . . . why would I—”

 

“You’re kind of murdering the stress ball.”

 

Matthew glanced down and realized that with his grip, he had ripped through the outer layer of the stress ball in some places, and the white foam was visible through the tears. “I’m fine.”

 

Jae looked like he wanted to protest, but he silenced himself as Jiwoo started speaking.

 

“The man who kidnapped you, do you think he worked for this other man?”

 

Somin only nodded.

 

Jiwoo waited for her to speak, but when it looked like she wasn’t about to elaborate, Jiwoo tried another method. “So the man who took you, he handed you over to this other man?”

 

Again, Somin nodded, not saying anything.

 

“So for the rest of the two weeks, you were with this other man?”

 

Somin didn’t respond. She was staring at the table, her face expressionless.

 

“I think she’s done,” Matthew said.

 

The other two seemed to agree, and Kevin stood up to make his way to the phone so that they could tell Jiwoo to cut it off.

 

From Jiwoo’s expression, Matthew could tell that even she sensed it was time to stop, and after a glance toward the observation mirror, she turned back to Somin. “We’ll cover the two weeks in our next meeting, all right?”

 

Somin made no movement, her gaze fixed on the table.

 

Jiwoo closed her laptop. “This process isn’t easy, but you’ve done really well so far. Thank you for—”

 

“The other man,” Somin interrupted.

 

Everyone froze—Jiwoo in the process of packing her things, Kevin on his way back to his seat, Jae and Matthew staring at the screens.

 

“The . . . other man?” Jiwoo prodded.

 

Somin continued staring at the table in what seemed to be an internal conflict. She seemed to be playing with something in her hands, and when Matthew looked up from the screen to observe through the mirror, he guessed that it was some sort of ring.

 

_A ring?_

 

After a few more seconds of deliberation, Somin slowly breathed out, then looked up at Jiwoo. “The other man. He was J.Seph.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're confused about the timeline just let me know, i'll give you the dates (since i'm psycho enough to have the exact dates planned out - what am i doing w/ my life) but at the end of this story i do plan on uploading the whole timeline or something lol
> 
> also i'm not a medical expert or police procedure expert so please don't kill me if some details are wrong ... i did a lot of research so i *think* it should be pretty realistic, but google can only tell me so much, and idk if i could ask people i know about hospital procedures after kidnappings without them questioning why i need to know such things (the struggles of a writer fml)


	12. 12

“Did I . . . do something wrong?”

 

Matthew looked up from his laptop in surprise. When he didn’t respond, Somin broke her gaze from the TV to glance at him; his confusion must have shown on his face, because she clarified, “You haven’t said a word since we came back.” Then she refocused her attention on the TV.

 

He sighed and pushed his laptop aside, leaving it open on the dining table. He made his way to the sofa, where Somin was sitting, wrapped up in her blanket. Sitting down next to her, he was careful to avoid her foot as he scooted toward her, putting an arm over her shoulder to pull her closer him.

 

“You did _nothing_ wrong. It’s just . . . stressful, knowing that this had to do with J.Seph. That’s all.”

 

Somin turned slightly to face him. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then thought better of it. Matthew noticed, though. “What is it?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What’s on your mind?”

 

Somin bit her lip, thinking, and after a few seconds finally asked, “What does he do? J.Seph, I mean.”

 

Matthew made an effort to not freeze up. If she didn’t know . . . that was a good sign, right? Even as he pondered how best to explain, he subconsciously pulled Somin a bit closer.

 

“He’s a criminal, but that much you know already, right?” When Somin nodded, Matthew continued. “His business . . . from what we know, he’s involved in a lot different industries. Drugs, weapons, prostitution, and more.”

 

“An empire,” Somin said quietly. Matthew had a feeling that he wasn’t supposed to hear that, so he kept silent, opting to ignore the uneasy feeling for now.

 

“He mainly deals with drugs, though . . . or at least, that’s what we know, since most of the information we have connects to him through Sangchul Medical.”

 

Like Choi, Lee, Ahn . . . Youngji . . . _Hongbin_. Shit. He was supposed to follow up on what Hongbin mentioned that night, about the car accident—Somin was safe now, so whatever he was saying about trying to not make the situation worse—

 

“Need to get back to work?” Somin asked suddenly, yanking him out of his thoughts.

 

“Huh?”

 

She laughed. “You have that look on your face. Go on, don’t let me keep you from working.”

 

Matthew smiled—Somin had a way of reading him. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at the clock above the TV. “I’ll have to head to the station, though . . . will you—”

 

“I’ll be fine!” When he looked hesitant to leave, Somin rolled her eyes and said, “Matt. I think I know how to manage for a few more hours on my own. Aren’t _I_ usually the one worried about leaving you alone?”

 

“Right,” Matthew said, laughing. In a moment of bliss, it felt like nothing had changed at all. But the moments passed too quickly. “Well . . . call if you need anything, okay? I’ll try to be back by dinner.”

 

 

 

 

 

When Matthew stepped into the team’s office, he was greeted by stacks of case files. He stepped out of the doorway just in time to avoid running into Jae, who was holding another stack higher than his head.

 

“What’s all this?” Matthew asked.

 

Jiwoo looked up from the file she was flipping through. “All the cases that can be linked to J.Seph.”

 

Matthew glanced around the room. “I don’t remember there being _this_ many?”

 

“It’s anything even possibly linked,” Jae piped up from his desk after he set the new stack down.

 

“So we’re including anything involving Sangchul Medical,” Kevin added, “even if it doesn’t explicitly mention J.Seph.”

 

“Gotcha,” Matthew said as he took a seat at his own desk, where there was a smaller stack of case files. As he skimmed through the summaries, he was relieved that they were all cases he recognized. Pushing them to the side of his desk, he stood up, and when he noticed that everyone was still absorbed in their work, he quietly excused himself into the hallway to head to the records room.

 

The case was stored digitally since most of the evidence was in the form of statements and some CCTV footage. It took place only four years ago, so even though the case had been closed, the file still accessible; a few more years and it would probably be moved to deep storage, which would take more time to access. He emailed the file to himself, glad that they had taken up on department-issued private emails rather than department-issued USB drives, which were a pain to keep track of.

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew returned to the team’s office, intending to research more about the case through online articles and the like.

 

“New info about Ahn,” Kevin said as Matthew entered, and that quickly became the new objective. Matthew’s investigation of Hongbin would have to wait.

 

“He’s actually a drug lord, known for his connections with North Korea. He helps them sell illegal drugs abroad, particularly methamphetamine and opium.”

 

Matthew frowned. “And it took this long to find out because . . .”

 

“It has to do with North Korea. Plus, he always operated under a pseudonym—Mawang.” That was a name Matthew recognized, though only barely. “No one knew what he looked like. He wasn’t too important . . . did smaller deals, mostly stayed near the border.”

 

“Then how did you find out?”

 

“Leaked phone call recording. Don’t know who sent it.”

 

Matthew sat down at his desk. “Who would leave an anonymous tip like that?”

 

“But it works, right?”

 

Matthew nodded—it _did_ help—but he felt uneasy. When he looked up he met the eyes of Jiwoo, who was looking at him curiously. _What is it?_

 

He shook his head. _Nothing._

 

Then, Jae walked in. “I come with food. You can all thank me later.”

 

Jiwoo sat up straighter to catch a glimpse of what Jae was holding. “That’s coffee. Not food.”

 

“It’s _better_ than food.” He placed the coffees down on the table next to one of the stacks of files. “Right now, at least,” he added as an afterthought.

 

Jae passed out a cup to everyone, though Kevin politely declined, stating that he had already had enough coffee in the last few days to last him the rest of the month. Matthew could relate, but he wasn’t about to decline the coffee. Setting the cup down next to his computer, he rummaged through his bag for the case files from the last two weeks, including the one for Ahn’s murder, only to find that they weren’t in there. Neither was his laptop.

 

Mentally retracing his steps, he almost slapped his hand to his forehead as he realized. “I left the files at home.” He stood up, taking his bag with him. “I’ll go get them and come back.”

 

“Then take Kevin’s coffee for Somin,” Jiwoo said, pointing to the remaining cup. “So it won’t go to waste.”

 

Jae laughed. “Yeah, do that, then you’ll have a less embarrassing excuse for coming home early.”

 

Matthew rolled his eyes, but took the coffee anyway.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Immediately after Matthew left, Somin dropped her smile and massaged her cheeks. It was strange, how quickly smiling had turned into a straining rather than natural activity. It felt too unreal, that she was actually back in their apartment. That two weeks ago, her life had been completely normal.

 

She was glad she needed to leave the apartment. With Matthew gone for the next few hours, this might be the best chance she would have for a while. She needed to get some air anyway; it was too suffocating.

 

Donning a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, Somin stopped on her way out the room, staring at the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. Her reflection stared back at her, its expression unreadable.

 

Somin ran her hands through her hair, combing through it with her fingers as she pushed it back. She was doing this for Matthew. This was justified. This was the right thing to do.

 

The ankle brace felt slightly strange as she wore the shoes, but she was used to worse. By the time she walked out of the apartment complex, she no longer felt the extra pressure on that foot.

 

 

 

 

 

The taxi dropped her off at the coffee shop a few kilometers from their apartment. When Somin had searched it up, she learned that the shop had only recently been opened; the driver had seemed skeptical that a shop even existed at that address, but Somin knew that she had memorized it correctly.

 

There were a few customers there, sitting at the small round tables. Some had their laptops open, and others were just talking, but it was rather vacant for a coffee shop, at least when compared to the one that Somin frequented near the apartment. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she walked up to the counter. The person attending the register was a young boy, and behind him was a middle-aged man who was making the drinks.

 

The boy’s demeanor was cheerful. “Hello! What would you like to order?”

 

Out of habit, Somin replied without even glancing at the menu. “Americano, medium.” She smacked herself internally. As the boy began to ring up her order, Somin forced herself to act. Clearing her throat to get his attention, she said, “Um, excuse me, I was wondering if you could . . . if you would . . .” Unsure of how to voice her question, she wordlessly placed the ring on the counter.

 

The boy looked at it curiously. “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t think I understand.”

 

Sighing, Somin tried again, making sure to keep her voice soft to avoid being overheard. “He said, well, it was this address, and if I showed you this then—” The bell of the entrance door chimed as more customers entered.

 

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, shaking his head. “But . . . well, this is a coffee shop. I’m not sure what we’d do with a ring, we don’t—”

 

“A ring?” The older man stopped what he was doing and gently nudged the boy aside. Picking up the ring carefully, he gestured for Somin to come to the side and spoke to the boy in hushed tones. The boy only nodded and proceeded to take the orders of the next customers, but not without looking askance at Somin.

 

The older man led Somin to the back of the coffee shop, where a nondescript door led to a small, well-lit room. Though they were still in the coffee shop, Somin felt oddly isolated.

 

“You can make your call here.” The man pointed to the table next to the wall. There were a few landlines there, along with a couple of cell phones. “Come back to the front to exit,” he said, holding up the ring. He then left, leaving her alone in the room.

 

Somin slowly headed to the table. The cell phones were old flip phones, and when she opened one of them she was surprised to see it turn on, despite knowing that they would obviously be functional if they were here. She dialed the phone number without hesitation, her fingers simply following the digits her mind remembered. It was only when she put the phone to her ear that she swallowed nervously.

 

He picked up on the second ring. “You made it.” J.Seph’s voice was pleasant, approving.

 

 _Breathe_. “Yes.”

 

“You learned something of value, then?”

 

Somin nodded, and then remembered that he couldn’t see her. “Drugs, weapons, prostitution, and more,” she recited. “Mostly drugs, and through Sangchul Medical.”

 

“So they know it’s Sangchul Medical . . .” he mused. “Did he mention specific names?”

 

She shook her head, belatedly remembering that he still couldn’t see her. She was not in the same room as him. “No . . . only that most of the information they have connects to you through it.”

 

After a moment, J.Seph spoke again. “Get the name.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“They probably have a name. You need to find out if they have a name, and then report back.” His voice was sharp, giving out orders. And then he softened his tone. “Not bad for the first time.”

 

Somin had to gulp back her revulsion.

 

“But if you don’t keep this up, then what you avoided this time could become a reality next time,” he said, and she could practically see the smile on his face.

 

She waited till the beep signaled that he had hung up. Closing the phone, she left, only barely paying attention to the way the old man’s hands were trembling as he handed her the ring back.

 

As she stepped out of the coffee shop, she took out her own phone, which she had put on silent before leaving the apartment. Glancing at the notifications, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her blood running cold.

 

_Matthew_

 

_Missed Call (2)_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is short, but it's for pacing purposes ... and sorry for the late update, it took so long because i had to figure out how to pace this ... but anyways
> 
> THANK YOU FOR ALL THE NICE COMMENTS!! as much as i make bmin suffer, i am still bmin (and sowoo) trash ... so ... yeah.
> 
> ALSO THEIR NEW REALITY SHOW "SECRET KARD" IS AN ACTUAL BLESSING ~~because who else would provide us with quality content every day THAT HAS SUBTITLES ALREADY we don't deserve kard~~


	13. 13

Matthew didn’t want Somin to be alarmed, so he tried to call her before he headed back. She didn’t answer her cell phone even after he tried twice, but before he tried again he realized that she was probably sleeping. She was tired most of the time after all, and he didn’t want to wake her up by calling when he was going to do that by going home anyway.

 

Since it was in the evening, the traffic was higher, as people with typical full-time jobs returned home. To avoid the intersection that, despite being on the shortest route home, was the busiest at that hour, Matthew took the roundabout way, which was longer but had less traffic. Unfortunately, he forgot that there was construction happening on that route, and most of the lanes were closed off; by the time he remembered this, it was too late to change plans, and he was stuck on that road.

 

He tried calling the home phone, just for good measure, but no one answered. She must have been really tired.

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew slowly opened the apartment door, careful to make as little noise as possible as he closed the door behind him and took off his shoes. He caught a glimpse of the blankets on the sofa, and a small, familiar figure huddled into the corner, her brown hair sticking out of the blanket. He smiled, glad he didn’t wake her up with his calls.

 

He packed his laptop and the case files into his bag, and then remembered the coffee he had brought with him. He quietly walked to the living room and set it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Though he thought of waking Somin up, he finally decided against it; she looked peaceful as she slept. Making sure that he didn’t forget anything this time, he left to go back to work.

 

 

 

 

 

“So Ahn was a drug lord. That connects him to Sangchul Medical, then,” Matthew said, drawing arrows as a visual on the board, “and serves as a way to connect him to J.Seph.”

 

Jae twirled a pen between his fingers. “You’re really pushing for this connection, aren’t you?”

 

“You don’t agree?”

 

“I do, man, it’s just . . .” he sighed, dropping the pen onto his desk. “That’s a whole new can of worms, isn’t it? When was the last time we’ve been able to take a case against J.Seph to court?” The silence corroborated his point. “Yeah, it’s probably true, this is probably him. But how would we go about trying to get him when it took this much time just to find something on Ahn?”

 

Kevin spoke up, “But we _did_ get info on Ahn, so—”

 

“Don’t tell me you think we got that by actually looking for it,” Jae cut him off. “If we didn’t get that handed to us, we’d still be stuck on trying to connect everything to J.Seph.”

 

It was at times like this that Matthew appreciated Jae’s presence on their team, not only for friendly support, but for anchoring them to reality. He didn’t hold back from boldly pointing out uncomfortable facts, as reluctant as the rest of them may be to acknowledge them.

 

“But that would mean that whoever leaked the info _wants_ us to connect it to him. Why?” Matthew said, running a hand through his hair as he looked back to the board.

 

Jiwoo cleared her throat. “We have the connection between J.Seph and Sangchul Medical, right?”

 

“Yeah, Park Seungjin,” Kevin said.

 

Jiwoo nodded. “We can work with that, then. Connect the victims first to Park Seungjin, then from him we’ll have a somewhat more manageable connection to J.Seph.”

 

She had a point, so they let that case rest. After all, it would be a waste to dedicate so much manpower to a case that couldn’t be solved until it wanted to be.

 

 

 

 

 

Kevin wanted to continue researching the victims; research was his specialty, and he felt disturbed by the truth that Jae pointed out—that the evidence was being handed to them. That left Matthew, Jae, and Jiwoo to attend to other business.

 

Matthew explained to them his suspicions about Hongbin, and while Jae could recall some information about the case—possibly from when Matthew was venting to him in the aftermath—Jiwoo had to be caught up to date. Along with forwarding the copy of the evidence that he had emailed to himself to the team, he gave both of them a brief summary of the key points.

 

Four years ago, shortly after Christmas, four college students had gotten into an accident. Their blood alcohol levels showed that all of them were intoxicated at the time of hospitalization, meaning they had been driving under the influence. They were all students at the same university, and two of the four succumbed to their injuries shortly afterward.

 

“So the only survivors . . .” Jiwoo started.

 

Matthew nodded grimly. “Somin and Hongbin.”

 

“When did this happen? How old were you guys?”

 

“Back in 2013 . . . she would have been a junior. It was the winter break of her junior year. And I was two years older, so I had graduated the year before, in 2012. Hongbin was a senior.”

 

Jiwoo seemed oddly disturbed. “So you think this might be related or something?”

 

“Not exactly. But Hongbin . . .” Matthew sighed. “See, he was the driver, at the time of the accident. But for the first time, right after Youngji’s death, he said that he had ‘saved’ her.” Matthew tried to recall Hongbin’s exact words, repeating them for Jiwoo and Jae.

 

Both of them looked perplexed.

 

“That doesn’t add up.”

 

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Jae, that observation was spot on. Thank you for your contribution.”

 

Jae rolled his eyes. “Anytime, fam. But either he was lying, or the report was wrong.”

 

“And this happened right after we found Youngji?” Jiwoo asked. Matthew nodded. “Then . . . well, in that case, I’m leaning toward the report being wrong.”

 

Both of them turned to her, and she blinked slowly, not understanding how they couldn’t see it. “It was right after his wife died. The emotional toll would have been overwhelming, and we saw that for ourselves. It doesn’t make sense for him to lie after an event like that.”

 

Matthew frowned. “But if the report has been a lie this whole time . . . then what actually happened that night during the accident?”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Somin felt her blood run cold as she stared at the notifications on her phone. No, no, no, _no_ , she could _not_ break his trust, not like this, not so soon.

 

Her ankle was supposed to be sprained, she wasn’t supposed to walk too much even in the apartment, and here she was, outside, in an unfamiliar coffee shop uncharacteristically far from their apartment, _and she had basically told him that she would stay in the apartment for fuck’s sake_ —

 

_Actually, you only told him that you would know how to manage for a few hours by yourself._

 

Somin resisted the urge to pull at her hair in frustration.

 

No explanation would make him understand—she needed more time, she— _she couldn’t lose him like this_.

 

She hailed the next cab that came by, ignoring the person behind her who, from the disgruntled look on his face, must have been waiting longer.

 

 

 

 

 

Though she kept a close watch on her phone during the whole trip back home, she received no more calls from Matthew, and that eased some of her anxiety. If he had found her missing, he would have called again, right?

 

And once she got home, after a quick inspection of the apartment, she realized that it was empty.

 

She had made it.

 

The air whooshed out of her lungs as she sighed in relief. She grasped at the dining table for support, slowly sinking into one of the chairs. For now, she was safe. Matthew was safe. She had done her job to protect him. And then a flicker of light in front of her made her look up.

 

It was Matthew’s laptop, left open on the dining table.

 

She must have brushed against it as she sat down, because the screen was lit up, the laptop disturbed from sleep mode. She stared at it, and after a while the screen dimmed back to black.

 

_Get the name._

 

Somin shut her eyes tightly and stood up, the chair grating against the floor. “No,” she said out loud to no one in particular. “No.”

 

_Then what you avoided this time could become a reality next time._

 

Somin clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palm. After a few seconds, she reluctantly forced her hands to relax. Small, crescent-shaped indentations had formed on her palm, but she could barely feel the sting. She sat back down and pulled the laptop closer to her, adjusting the screen angle to see more clearly, and was surprised to see that it had opened to the desktop.

 

 _Of course_ , she thought with the sickening feeling of realization. When his laptop was connected to their home Wi-Fi, it didn’t require a password. She suddenly felt much worse than she did a few seconds ago.

 

He trusted her enough to not require a password while at home.

 

His trust was a mistake.

 

Somin took a deep breath. She would have to deal with the consequences eventually, there was no way around it. But she would postpone them for as long as she could.

 

And with that thought, she clicked around the open programs to find his email, and noticed that he had a new email . . . from himself. Her gut told her this would be significant, so she opened the email and clicked on one of the attachments, which opened a PDF preview in the email. Her eyes widened after just reading the first few lines, a flash of recognition running through her.

 

Why . . . why would Matthew need to pull up the files from her accident so many years ago?

 

As she continued reading, a strange feeling niggled at the back of her mind. She couldn’t quite place it, but something about the document seemed to be slightly . . . off. She needed more time, and she jolted up in the realization that Matthew would still be on the way home.

 

Moving fast, she ran to the office room, rummaging through a drawer to find a USB drive. Returning to the dining room, she download the files to the USB, and then deleted them from his laptop. Another thought ran through her, and she marked the email as _unread_ before putting the laptop into sleep mode and pushing it back to its original spot on the table.

 

Then she caught sight of the files next to the laptop.

 

_No, she couldn’t . . ._

 

_She had to._

 

With a heavy sigh, she took out her phone, opening the camera application. She flipped open the first file and began to take pictures. Her heart sunk lower and lower with every click of the shutter, and after a certain point the motions became robotic.

 

 

 

 

 

Somin barely finished in time, moving the files back to their place as the lock on the front door clicked. Sparing the table a last glance, Somin speed walked to the sofa and curled up in a corner—

 

She was wearing different clothes. Looking around, she yanked the blanket that was on the other side of the sofa toward her, covering herself from head to toe, and then rested her head on the armrest. Her heart was beating too fast, too loud, the sound echoing in her head—her head was pounding, on the verge of developing a migraine.

 

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in . . . breathe out._

 

She had to relax her breathing; she had to _look_ like she was asleep. She could think of more excuses that way, since she wouldn’t be disturbed.

 

But she didn’t have to worry that much.

 

She heard the zipper of a bag, the clunking of a laptop, the rustling of papers. Then footsteps, approaching her, and she all but stopped breathing in her effort to appear naturally asleep. A few seconds later—though it felt like an hour at the least—the footsteps receded. The lock clicked into place, and only then did Somin dare to breath.

 

Opening her eyes, she sat up slowly, her vision slightly disoriented by the migraine she definitely had by now. She’d have to make a cup of coffee, to help with her migraine—wait.

 

Somin blinked once, twice, three times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Disentangling herself from her blanket, she shoved it to the side without a second thought, ignoring it as it fell to the floor; she leaned forward and shakily outstretched her arm, her fingers wrapping around the cup hesitantly.

 

It was still hot, but not scalding. She brought it to her nose and sniffed slightly—then swallowed a gasp. She blinked rapidly, but her eyes were stinging.

 

What did she do to deserve him?

 

 

 

 

 

_You don’t deserve him._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one, sorry ... this week's been busy >_< but hey, you got more information, yeah?
> 
> *realizes how sucky that trade off is so backs away*
> 
> anyways, i want to say thank you so much for all the support so far!! all of your comments never fail to make me smile :)


	14. 14

Matthew never thought he could hate being in the observation room, since usually that meant they would be getting answers, one way or the other. But with Somin being the one in the interrogation room, he had a feeling that ‘hate’ was the best word to describe his feelings.

 

She had surprised him by telling him as soon as he returned from work that she wanted to go in the next day to finish her statement. He had tried to dissuade her, pointing out that it was only earlier that day that she had given the first part of her statement, but she wasn’t about to change her mind.

 

“I want to get it over with,” she had said, and Matthew could understand. But she had seemed visibly nervous, and that was what Matthew didn’t want to understand. Being nervous about giving a statement . . . that could only mean that it was about something unpleasant.

 

He had made her hot chocolate, though, in an effort to help, and she had appreciated the gesture.

 

Jiwoo was to continue taking the statement, since Somin seemed rather comfortable with her. After starting up her laptop, she glanced up at Somin.

 

“Ready?”

 

Somin didn’t look ready, but she nodded.

 

“Okay, then let’s begin. Again, this statement is being videotaped for future reference. Jeon Somin, you’re here with me, Inspector Jeon Jiwoo, on May 13th, 2017, to continue giving your statement about your abduction. As I explained last time, let me know immediately should you want to stop or take a break. Understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“When you were here last time, you said that the person you spent the rest of the two weeks with—the person you were taken to—was J.Seph. Is this correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Matthew clenched his fists, regretting leaving the stress ball on his desk. Not that it was still usable, being torn up as it was.

 

Jiwoo glanced at her computer screen before asking, “Would you be able to describe the general events of the next two weeks? Or would you like me to ask you specific questions like last time?”

 

“I . . . I think I’ll be fine, just . . . going over it.” Somin bit her lip. “Where should I, uh . . . start from?”

 

“Well, just recount it in order, so whatever you remember next after Lee handed you off to J.Seph.”

 

“Lee?”

 

“Oh, sorry. Lee Sunghun was the name of the man who kidnapped you. But yes, continue from there.”

 

Somin took a quick breath and sat up straighter. Matthew recognized the determined look on her face, and his heart ached. She was really trying to push through this.

 

“I . . . don’t really remember what happened right after that. J.Seph shot the man, though, because he . . . he . . .” Somin frowned, blinking a few times as if to jog her memory. “He asked for a reward?”

 

Matthew had to remind himself that Lee was dead, and that there was no point in planning out how he would personally kill Lee.

 

“A reward?”

 

“Yeah . . . since he—” She cut herself off, but a few seconds later she continued as if nothing had happened. “The person who—Lee, right? Lee asked for a reward, for bringing me, and he—J.Seph—shot him.”

 

From beside Matthew, Jae said, “Well that clears one question.”

 

Matthew nodded uneasily.

 

“I don’t remember a lot after that. I . . . I’m not sure how much time passed, but when I woke up I was in a different room. I . . . um . . . do I just say what I did?”

 

“Yes. Just narrate it, like a story, no matter how small the event may have been.”

 

“O-okay. I just . . . got up, and I walked out of the room. And I was in a penthouse, I think . . . before I could think of what to do next, J.Seph was there . . .”

 

“Matthew, lean back, or you’ll fall out of that chair.”

 

Matthew grudgingly accepted that Jae was right.

 

“What did he do?” Jiwoo asked.

 

“He, uh, asked if I wanted water.”

 

The silence in both the interrogation room and observation room was almost deafening.

 

Somin, who had been focusing her attention on the table in front of her, glanced up at Jiwoo only to see that Jiwoo had stopped typing to stare at her. Jiwoo snapped out of it when they made eye contact, though, and she choked out, “What?”

 

“He asked if I wanted water. I didn’t say anything, but he gave me water, and helped me sit down—he said the tranquilizers were probably still in effect or something.”

 

As Somin paused to drink a sip of water, Jae tilted his head. “Was she really with J.Seph?” he asked out loud, half joking. Matthew could see where he was coming from—the actions so far seemed very . . . not J.Seph.

 

“The rest of the evidence supports that J.Seph was somehow involved,” Matthew said, deciding that he was in no mood for a joke.

 

“And there’s really no motive to lie, right?” Kevin added. “That we know of, so far at least.”

 

Then Somin was speaking again, and they reverted their attention to the observation window.

 

“He . . . explained that he was J.Seph,” Somin said, her eyes on the table. “He didn’t say what he did or anything, just that . . . that was his name. Then he asked for my name. And then he said that he . . . needed to keep me around for a few days. He promised that I’d . . . get to leave.”

 

If Matthew had been confused before, he was certainly confused now. J.Seph, who never became involved in the foreground, opting to operate the scene from backstage, kidnapping someone just to keep her around? Matthew decided to wait a bit longer before drawing conclusions.

 

“The next few days I was alone most of the time, so I just explored the penthouse and figured out how to use the TV. That’s how I figured out what day it was,” Somin explained. “Because I saw the news. It went on like that for a while, but on Thursday he came back.”

 

“Now, before you go on, this was the first Thursday you were gone, the 27th of April, right?”

 

Somin nodded. “He told me to get ready, and he took me to some . . . some office building, I think . . .”

 

 _Daejung Offices_.

 

A glance at Jae and Kevin proved that they were on the same wavelength as Matthew.

 

“And what happened there?”

 

Before answering, Somin decided to drink some water, and when she put the bottle down it was nearly halfway empty. “I . . . I don’t remember most of what happened. There were a lot of people, and it seemed like a . . . a convention? I don’t know how to describe it.”

 

Jiwoo tapped her fingers on the desk, thinking. “Let’s see . . . what was everyone wearing? What were you wearing?”

 

“I was in a . . . a blue dress. It seemed to be a formal event, and they were talking about new medications for a while.”

 

Jae snapped his fingers. “That must’ve been the original convention! Somin was at the original convention, the one Youngji thought she was attending when—” He glanced at Matthew and then shut up. Matthew wanted to tell him he didn’t need to avoid that topic anymore, but a part of him was glad to avoid it. Besides, Somin was still speaking, meaning Matthew wasn’t about to take the time to reply.

 

“People started leaving, and then there were ten or so people left, including J.Seph and me. It was a lot less formal by then, and there was a buffet . . . after a while, J.Seph pulled me with him to go grab water.” Somin stopped to drink more water. Matthew had a strange feeling that he knew what happened next.

 

“He handed me a glass that he had filled, and told me to give it the man in the purple tie. So I—I did.” She took a slow breath. “He—then the man, he d-died.”

 

“Well, that was definitely J.Seph,” Jae said in the pause that followed. But Matthew was more focused on the implications of what Somin had just revealed.

 

“And that must’ve been Ahn,” Matthew said quietly. It felt as though a weight had been lifted off his chest. “She’s innocent.”

 

“So J.Seph essentially handed you a poisoned glass of water and made you kill that man?” Jiwoo asked.

 

“I-I didn’t know it was poisoned, I just—I gave him the water. I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

 

“Somin, relax,” Jiwoo intervened. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing you of anything. I was just clarifying if that was what happened.”

 

Somin took another slow breath and nodded.

 

“Okay, you’ve done really well so far. Do you want a break or anything? Or would you like to continue?”

 

Somin stared at the back of Jiwoo’s laptop for a few seconds. “I . . . I think I’ll continue.”

 

Jiwoo nodded. “All right then. What happened next?”

 

“We . . .” Somin paused to take a breath. “We went back to the penthouse. I passed out as soon as we got back, because I . . .” She chuckled humorlessly. “It was a lot.”

 

Matthew didn’t know if he wanted to laugh at the fact that Somin was trying to justify a completely normal reaction, or if he wanted to hug her and never let go.

 

“I was passed out for a while. When I woke up, it was Friday afternoon, and I was at—I w-was—” She stopped suddenly, grabbing the water bottle.

 

Matthew wondered what had happened on Friday—and then almost smacked himself for not realizing what this could have been about.

 

 _Did . . . Somin have to witness . . ._ that _?_

 

Somin cleared her throat loudly before continuing, and when she spoke there was none of her usual inflection. It sounded as if she was reading something from a book rather than describing a horrifying event.

 

“He said he had called Youngji, that he found out that she was my friend and invited her to a convention. I was in a separate room from the main office, and the door was locked, so I couldn’t get out. He let her come inside, and once she saw me she ran over, but she couldn’t open the door either. That was probably when she realized that it wasn’t a convention. He asked her if she knew anything about the investigation or me, and she said she didn’t, except that we were friends. Since she couldn’t leave, especially after seeing his face, he killed her. He later said it was a message, to make sure I didn’t fight back, because he’d hurt others if I didn’t listen.”

 

The sharp pain in his hand brought Matthew back to his senses, and he saw that he had been digging his nails into his palm so hard that he had managed to break skin. That was also when he realized that he was shaking—with grief, frustration, _anger_ —

 

Jae interrupted his thoughts. “I can’t say I know what you feel, Matt,” he said, “but I know that I’m mad too. Just hear out the rest of the statement, okay? We can decide what to do after that.”

 

Matthew forced himself to take calming breaths as he continued listening to Somin.

 

“How did he kill Youngji?” Jiwoo asked carefully, trying to avoid triggering Somin.

 

But Somin maintained her cool detachment. “He slammed her head against the table repeatedly. The table was glass, so it broke, and she was bleeding heavily. I don’t know if she died while we were still there, because we left and he told two of his men to make the room presentable. They probably killed her, if she wasn’t dead already.”

 

Matthew suddenly wished that Somin would stop speaking like that—stop narrating it, as if it didn’t apply to her, as if she hadn’t been there, because the way she was speaking made it sound more chilling than it already was.

 

Jiwoo prodded Somin to continue when she spent more than a few seconds staring at the table. “That was it. We went to a few more conventions, some events that seemed like parties, they all blended together. They didn’t always speak in Korean, so I don’t know what was happening, but generally they were about medications, drugs, and the like. Some long names . . . I don’t think I can remember them, and their effects. Then on Friday, I think, he used another tranquilizer on me, and the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital.”

 

Jiwoo finished typing up the rest of the statement, and if she seemed surprised, she hid it well. After asking a few more times if Somin remembered anything more, Jiwoo simply told Somin to come back if something else popped into her mind.

 

That concluded the statement.

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew took Somin home afterward. It was almost noon, but Somin said she didn’t have an appetite for lunch quite yet. She seemed tired, sleeping the whole drive home.

 

“You’ll be okay?” he asked as they walked into the apartment. Somin only nodded.

 

Matthew sighed. “Somin?” She kept walking away, heading toward the living room, and Matthew closed the distance between them with a few strides, carefully grabbing her by the arm. She stopped moving, but didn’t turn around to face him. “Somin?” he said again as he walked around to look at her. “Somin, are you okay?”

 

She didn’t look up at him; kept her head low, so he couldn’t see her face, and he frowned. He bent down, trying to catch her eyes, but she turned her face away quickly, using her hair as a shield.

 

“Somin. Talk to me.”

 

And then, when he thought he should give her the space she seemed to want, she sniffled, and all thoughts of letting go, even for a second, vanished.

 

“Come here,” he said quietly, and he pulled her into a hug.

 

Somin buried her face into his chest, silent for a few moments, and then Matthew felt her shaking slightly. Holding her tighter, Matthew rested his head on hers. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay now.”

 

She sniffled, and then, before he could say anything more, she was crying, her hands grasping at his shirt as she looked for something to hold on to. Matthew patted her gently on her back, saying nothing. He felt each sound she made, every trembling breath she took, tear a new hole into his heart. He wanted to stop her tears, wanted to help her, but he didn’t know _how_.

 

Suddenly, Jiwoo’s words rang through his mind. _Maybe you’re anxious about something else, not just the statement._

 

It was this. This was what he had been anxious about. After everything had been said, after all the information had been relayed, they were still left with this baggage—the emotional toll of what had happened. And as much as he might have tried to help, it was still Somin that was going through it, still Somin that had to deal with the consequences of what happened to her.

 

After having all of the information, Matthew, as a police officer, would be able to solve the problem. Find the answer, the culprit, and bring them to justice; then move on. Even if he didn’t find the culprit, if it became a cold case, he would eventually move on. There were never any strings attached, nor many emotions involved. Matthew would just remove himself from the case and walk away.

 

But this case was different; it was _personal_. This was a case that, whether solved or not, he would never be able to walk away from.

 

And that scared him.

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew lost track of how long they stood there in the hall to the living room, him holding onto Somin as she cried. Eventually, she quieted down, but she still didn’t pull away.

 

“Tired?” he asked softly.

 

Somin nodded.

 

“The sofa or the bed?”

 

“Sofa,” she whispered, and her voice sounded hoarse.

 

Matthew wasn’t about to ask her to pull away. He didn’t want her to pull away—if she needed the support, he was willing to provide it for as long as necessary. So he picked her up easily, being careful to avoid hurting her, and carried her to the couch; she kept her face hidden in his chest the whole time.

 

He set her down on the side with the blankets, and though her movements were a bit sluggish, she managed to take one of the blankets and pull it over herself. In the second before she completely covered herself with the blanket, Matthew caught sight of a part of her face that wasn’t concealed by her hair; the tear tracks on her cheeks pained him.

 

Matthew stayed there, keeping a hand on her shoulder for reassurance. He stayed in that uncomfortable position for a few minutes before Somin coughed to clear her throat. “I’m sorry, you have work,” she said, her voice throaty. “I’ll be sleeping. You can go.”

 

Matthew let out a deep sigh, briefly closing his eyes. “Somin. Do _not_ be sorry. _Please_.” He leaned closer, and knowing that it would only upset her if he tried pulling the blanket away from her face to look at her, he placed his head on hers, leaving the blanket as a barrier. Speaking through the blanket, he said, “You’ve done nothing wrong, so please, for my sake, never say that you’re sorry. Okay?”

 

She didn’t move, so Matthew assumed that she was either asleep or still blaming herself. Knowing Somin, he guessed the latter. They would have to talk about it another time, but for now, as much as he wanted to stay beside her, he had to help analyze this case.

 

“I’ll come home early, in a few hours. I’ll bring lunch, and we can just stay home and eat on the sofa. Just spend the rest of the day relaxing. Sound good?”

 

After a few seconds, Somin nodded through the blanket, and despite his heavy heart, Matthew smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

No one commented on Matthew’s red eyes once he returned to the station, and for that Matthew was grateful. No one argued against Matthew leaving early that day, either.

 

They started by going over the new information they had gained from the statement.

 

“So now we know more about . . . everyone, really,” Jiwoo said. “Choi was killed by Lee during the party, Lee was killed by J.Seph after bringing Somin to him, Ahn was killed by J.Seph using Somin, and Youngji was killed by J.Seph as a warning to Somin.”

 

The room was quiet, and Matthew had a feeling that no one was still over the statement. Jae only proved his point when he spoke up.

 

“The way she was speaking . . .” Jae shuddered. “It gave me the creeps. She sounded like a robot or something.”

 

Jiwoo sighed, looking up at Jae from her computer. “It was a defense mechanism. She just wanted to get the story out, get the statement over with, and if she had to shut off her emotions to do that she would. So that’s what she did.”

 

“Yeah, I know, but with Somin . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess that’s why they pull you off the case when you know the person.”

 

It was hard to stay focused on that case, so they decided that it would be the best use of their time to work on something different until Matthew left.

 

That’s how they found themselves continuing to work on the accident case from four years ago.

 

After catching Kevin up to speed on the latest developments—namely Hongbin’s strange comments—they all split up some of their research. Jae and Jiwoo were to go through the original documents and evidence again, since Matthew had already read through everything once and it was better to have fresh pairs of eyes look over them again. Matthew was to help Kevin with research, which mostly involved going through online newspapers and articles from that time (the next step would have been looking through the physical newspaper archive, but that would have been a last resort).

 

Jae and Jiwoo finished first; naturally, since they had a finite amount of information to sort through.

 

“Nothing other than what you told us,” Jae said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on his desk. “It’s a dead end.”

 

Jiwoo didn’t say anything. As sure as she had sounded that Hongbin’s outburst had been truthful, the lack of evidence made it hard to argue the point.

 

Kevin sighed. “Well . . . I’ve been searching by Somin and Hongbin till now. Who were the two victims again? I’ll try looking under their names.”

 

“It was in the document I emailed you,” Matthew said. “But the two victims . . .” Matthew racked his memory before anyone could pull up the case files. “Lee Jaehwan and Lee Hyeri. Not related to each other or to Hongbin,” he added, clarifying their last names. “Oh, and there was the initial witness that had called the police to the scene, but that’s all.”

 

“Witness?” Kevin asked as Matthew went back to reading an article he had found. “Did they get more information on that person?”

 

“Nope,” Jae said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “It was just a witness, so they weren’t required to provide _anything_. No photo ID, no identifying information—”

 

“Wait,” Matthew interrupted. He zoomed in on the small text of the article, an interview of peers of the victims, to better see it, annoyed that he had left his laptop at home; his laptop had better screen resolution. He then turned the computer screen to the side so that the others could see it, a photocopy of a newspaper article from the morning after the accident. The text was slightly pixelated from zooming in. “They have a name: Kim Taehyung.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehe yes i did that :)
> 
> in case you were wondering (it should've been mentioned already in a previous chapter but i have a habit of forgetting these things fml): they don't know j.seph's real name, only that he's j.seph, since investigations have yielded no connections as to his true identity :)


	15. 15

Somin was awake when Matthew arrived home. She seemed to be in a better mood than earlier, so that made Matthew feel better about his modified plan.

 

“You’re back already?” Somin asked, her eyes following Matthew as he walked in.

 

“I told you I’d be back early, didn’t I?”

 

She nodded. And then tilted her head. “So . . . does that mean . . . food?”

 

Matthew chuckled. Somin had always loved food, and dieting fads never appealed to her like they did to many other people, especially during college. “Something like that,” he said. “Maybe we should go out? Just spend some time together.” _Since we haven’t lately_. “It’ll be fun.” _It might help_.

 

 

 

 

 

“You said I could pick!” Somin pouted indignantly.

 

Matthew sighed, knowing that he already lost the argument when she brought out the formidable pout. “I did, didn’t I? You know, you’d think I would know better by no—”

 

Somin protested by smacking him lightly on the arm. Matthew took full advantage of this moment—the first time in weeks that they’ve truly had some time for themselves—to be nothing short of extra.

 

He groaned, his face contorting in what he hoped looked like pain, as he clutched his arm. “Oh my god, Somin, you’re so violent—”

 

Somin gaped at him. “This lying little—”

 

“And now you’re swearing at me!” Matthew said dramatically. He covered his face with one hand. “You’re honestly such a bully, I feel so attac—”

 

“Can you not?” she said, grabbing onto his arm and looking around. “People are gonna think I actually bully you!”

 

“But you d—”

 

“I do not!”

 

“See? You won’t even let me finish what I’m saying—my opinion doesn’t even matter!” Matthew retorted. He couldn’t hide his grin at her expression—a hilarious combination of shock, disbelief, and exhaustion.

 

She blinked a few times, and then finally shook her head. “You’re too much,” she said with a sigh, and she sounded so much like a tired mother dealing with her rowdy child that Matthew laughed, and she smiled at the sound (though she still smacked him on the arm again).

 

“But seriously,” Matthew said, broaching the topic again as they got through the security check. “An amusement park? Of all things . . .”

 

“But you said my choice, remember?”

 

“Yeah, but . . .” Matthew sighed. It might have been different if it had been his choice—he might have had a valid point to make—but since it was her choice he really had no reason to complain.

 

Somin offered him a comforting smile. “I told you. I’ll be fine. Really, it’s just a sprained ankle, Matt—even you know I’ve been through worse.”

 

He wondered how her ankle could have gotten sprained in the first place.

 

But then he pushed that thought out of his mind, because this was supposed to be a time for just them; for them to finally relax and have a chance to get away from everything that was complicating their lives at that moment. So Matthew smiled, took Somin’s hand in his, and pointed to the roller coaster that they were approaching. “This one first?”

 

 

 

 

 

While Matthew was relatively ambivalent about roller coasters, Somin loved them. She loved amusement parks in general, so Matthew knew that there was no point in being surprised when she had first chosen to come here when asked where they should go. Matthew just enjoyed spending time with people he cared about, and if it was at an amusement park then that’s all there was to it (with the additional entertainment that the amusement park attractions provided, though).

 

“You were closing your eyes,” Somin said as she popped another fry into her mouth.

 

“Nuh-uh.”

 

“I saw you.”

 

“How?”

 

“Because I kept my eyes open.”

 

The fries were spicy, so Matthew pushed the soda toward her. “. . . Something got in my eye.”

 

Somin raised an eyebrow. “For the entire ride?”

 

Matthew started smiling against his will. “Maybe?”

 

Somin laughed, hitting his arm that was resting on the table. She had a habit of hitting people when she laughed, even though it barely felt like a tap. Or maybe Matthew was just desensitized. Her hand glinted dully in the sunlight, though, and that drew Matthew’s attention.

 

“Where’s that from?” he asked, lightly taking her hand. The ring was a dark grey color, and the metal—since that’s what it looked like—had a matte finish, hence the dull glint. He couldn’t remember ever buying Somin a ring, let alone one like this. He knew her well enough to realize that a ring like this wasn’t her style in the first place.

 

“Oh,” Somin said, and for a second her eyes blanked; her face paled; and in the next second she covered it up with a smile so convincing that even Matthew, who knew a microexpression when he saw one, doubted his eyes. “It was from . . .” She cleared her throat, averting her eyes. Her voice was softer. “It was from Youngji. I started wearing it after she . . . I took it out of storage when we got home, after I came back.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were so compelling, so _honest_ , that Matthew believed her.

 

But only for that second. He knew what he saw in that first moment; her initial, true reaction. He knew that she was most probably lying, and if it wasn’t an outright lie then at the least it was only a partial truth . . . or maybe it was the truth, and Matthew was just becoming paranoid. Whatever it may have been, it suddenly transformed the understanding smile on his face into a mask; made the following nod of acceptance into an act. And it made the unsettled feeling in his gut all too real.

 

 

 

 

 

By the time they returned home, the sun had already set, and the incident with the ring was forgotten, pushed to the back of Matthew’s mind. He had decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, to believe that he was just being irrationally paranoid, but also ignored the small voice in his mind saying that he was only believing what he wanted to believe—it was easier, after all. As they stepped into their apartment, Matthew’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID.

 

“One sec,” he said, showing her the screen briefly. “Gotta take this.” Stepping to the side, he answered and brought the phone up to his ear. “Jae? What’s up?”

 

“Hey, we found some things about Hongbin. Nothing concrete, but just some things that seemed off. They’re in the shared folder, you should be able to access them through your email.”

 

“Shit. Well, I just got home—any key points? I’ll get my laptop now.”

 

“The main thing that got our attention,” Jae started as Matthew went to the bedroom for his laptop, “is that Hongbin has nothing from the accident on his medical records—”

 

“You got his medical records?”

 

“Yeah, we said he was a suspect. Whoops. But at this point he is, isn’t he?”

 

Matthew made a sound of agreement as he continued searching the bedroom.

 

“Anyways, Somin has the accident covered in her medical records—we didn’t have to say she was a suspect to get hers, don’t worry, we used her status as a kidnapping victim. So Somin has the accident covered, and even Jaehwan and Hyeri, who passed away, have the accident covered—as a cause of death, though. When everyone else involved has the accident on record, why doesn’t Hongbin?”

 

Matthew frowned. “He wouldn’t . . . if, like he said, he was never involved in the first place.” Then he sighed in frustration. “Just—hold on, stay on the line.” Putting his phone on mute, Matthew called out, “Somin, have you seen my laptop anywhere?”

 

There was some shuffling in the other room. “No, where’d you leave it?”

 

“I’m 110% sure it was in our room.”

 

“Then I’m betting that -10% that you left it at work,” Somin replied, and as disbelieving as Matthew was that he’d leave his laptop at work when in the middle of such an important case, he didn’t want to put it past himself to pull such a stupid stunt.

 

Matthew ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. He’d have to shower anyway, he thought as he unmuted his phone. “I can’t find my laptop, I think I left it on my desk. I’ll be at the station in a half hour, I can—”

 

“Man, are you fucking kidding me?” Jae interrupted. “I called since I thought you’d flip out for being out of the loop once you got back and checked your laptop. If you don’t have it, then that’s great, take the rest of the day off like you were meant to.”

 

Matthew huffed. “Jae, you can’t say you have new information and then not expect me to—”

 

“You know what? Watch me. Spend more time with Somin, fool, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

And then Jae hung up. Matthew thought about calling him back, but knowing Jae, he had probably turned his phone off or put it on silent by now. Or maybe just blocked Matthew. Instead, he headed into the living room, where Somin was sitting on the floor in front of the TV stand searching through a pile of DVDs.

 

“Movie?” she asked. “If you’re not busy.”

 

Matthew smiled, it dropped quickly, replaced by an expression of apprehension. “As long as it’s not another Disney movie, I’ve watched each of them at least four times, Somin!”

 

 

 

 

 

They ended up watching a Disney movie.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Somin loved amusement parks. They were full of the most pointless activities, from roller coaster rides to arcade games. As entertaining as these activities were, they were also great distractions, and that was what made Somin pick the amusement park. She was tired, of course—as she seemed to constantly have been since returning—but the only alternative was going somewhere more private, somewhere with fewer distractions.

 

She could imagine how a dinner date would have gone, and it wasn’t ideal. Knowing how tired she was, she knew she would let something slip; and if she drank anything alcoholic, then, well, there went J.Seph’s plan, along with Matthew’s safety.

 

Fortunately, it was easy to forget about the more immediate matters at an amusement park, making it easier to pretend like everything was fine—reducing the opportunities that Somin had to screw things up.

 

But of course she had to forget to take off the ring. The stupid, fucking ring. What a thing to forget, the easiest to keep hidden, really.

 

It had been easy to forget its presence, like it had been with the cuff. If only she’d been able to talk about what really happened that week after Youngji’s death . . . she would have attended those made up medical conventions gladly, compared to the alternative that she had gone through.

 

But she forgot about the ring, and even though she hadn’t yet screwed up the mission, she had definitely screwed with Matthew’s trust. He didn’t seem to outright push her away as a liar, but she saw his face as soon as she tried to bullshit her way out of the grave she had dug herself by forgetting the fucking ring.

 

As intelligent as J.Seph might have been in his illegal businesses, he was terrible at picking reliable slaves. The thought actually caused her to laugh out loud, and she stilled immediately, glancing to the side where Matthew had fallen asleep halfway through the movie. On a usual movie night she would’ve woken him up, forcing him to complete the movie with her, but today she had barely been paying attention to the movie herself, let alone force Matthew to pay attention to it too.

 

Besides, Matthew looked so peaceful when he was asleep. His dark circles were more visible without his smile and cheerful attitude drawing attention away, but overall he looked so much more relaxed. Since Somin usually fell asleep first, it wasn’t often that she got to watch him sleep. It was calming; just watching him sleep put her at ease, because in a way it meant that the situation was safe enough for him to be able to sleep.

 

Her parents had told her that he didn’t sleep for a full three days after her accident, until he practically collapsed from exhaustion. Thankfully he had been staying at his parents’ house that night, so they were able to get him checked up and then make sure he actually got sleep every night, if only for a few hours. He had gotten better with fixing his habit as time passed, but he still always slept after Somin, as if he couldn’t fall asleep until she did first.

 

That showed how tired he must have been today. Maybe the amusement park was a bad idea; as distracting as it was, it was also draining. Combined with the fact that he must have not been getting sufficient sleep the last few weeks, especially the two weeks she was gone . . . Somin frowned deeply as she watched Matthew’s chest rise and fall with every breath he took. She was the reason he couldn’t get sleep. Not only now, but even before; the cause of his anxiety, the root of any worry Matthew had had for the last few years, was generally, in some way, related to her.

 

Work was tiring for him, of course. As an interior designer, Somin’s career was also tiring and stressful in its own ways, but she doubted it compared to his in terms of sheer stress. Witnessing the aftermath of the cruelty that people were capable of inflicting upon each other . . . she shuddered at the mere thought. Yet Matthew dealt with it efficiently, letting none of the cases truly affect him even as he maintained a caring, optimistic attitude—until the situation, whether it was a case like it was now or not, pertained to Somin.

 

Somin suddenly felt sick to her stomach as the suffocating feeling of guilt overwhelmed her. Nearly tripping over her blanket in her hurry to get up, she ran to the bathroom and barely managed to lock the door behind her and make it to the toilet as the wave of nausea crashed into her and she vomited into the toilet.

 

The sound of the flush didn’t drown out the insistent knocks at the door. “Somin? You okay?”

 

“Fine,” Somin called out, but her mouth felt disgusting so she quickly went to the sink to rinse it out. She ended up brushing her teeth and rinsing her mouth again, this time with mouthwash, even going to the extent to wash her face before she opened the door.

 

Matthew had clearly woken up as soon as he realized she wasn’t next to him; his hair was disheveled, and he hadn’t taken a moment to smooth it down like he usually did after he got up from bed. She didn’t know what time it was or how many hours he’d been asleep by that point, but his eyes were slightly puffy.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked as she stepped out of the bathroom.

 

Somin nodded, but she couldn’t force a smile onto her face to corroborate. “Fine.” He looked at her, not even pretending to believe her. “It must’ve been the food from the amusement park,” she said at last. “I just felt really sick . . .”

 

“Hey, relax,” he said, putting his arms around her to pull her close. She snuggled into his chest. “Just . . .” She felt him yawning. “Do you want applesauce? A banana?” Somin shook her head. “Sleep it off, for now. Shouldn’t start by taking medication . . .”

 

They slowly shuffled back to the living room, neither letting go of the other. “Should I stay home tomorrow?” Matthew asked as they settled back onto the sofa.

 

Somin shook her head before she realized that it was dark. “No, I’ll be fine, don’t hold back work because of me.”

 

“I’m serious, I can—”

 

She cut him off. “ _Especially_ when it’s about me.” She hoped her voice sounded light enough to convey that as a joke. “I’m telling you, I’ll be fine. Now you go to sleep, sleepyhead,” she said, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his forehead.

 

By the time she leaned back, she could hear him snoring; he was already fast asleep.

 

She blinked the tears back, and after an hour of trying, she gave up on sleep for that night.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally wrote this whole thing on my phone ahdjsjfks what have i done O.O i'm not even exaggerating the struggle - "somin" autocorrects to "sink". SINK. and my phone just never learned i-
> 
> *takes a deep breath* okay i'm calm. anyways, hola hola is an actual bop and the whole album is lit. if you haven't listened to it yet then ~~WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE~~ you should listen to it asap lol


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early update because i'll be busy the next week or two (moving, starting college, etc.) ... so hopefully this'll help keep you guys busy till the next update :)

“Up already?” Matthew asked as Somin shuffled into the kitchen, arms wrapped around her middle to stay warm. The apartment was usually cold in the morning, no matter the heat setting.

 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

 

Matthew flipped the omelette he was making before heading to the fridge to grab more eggs. He glanced at Somin, her dark circles more noticeable this morning; she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Matthew frowned. “Hey, sit down—you look like you’ll fall asleep any second. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

 

The strange, uncomfortable atmosphere became only more apparent as they sat in silence, eating without conversation, at the table; there was a tense undercurrent, but neither seemed to know _how_ to acknowledge it, let alone be willing to do so. Eventually, Matthew set down his fork—his plate was clean, while Somin’s omelette was more or less untouched, though it had been moved around the plate considerably.

 

Matthew decided to be the first to address it. “Somin.” She looked up. “About yesterday. The ring.”

 

She stiffened, as if bracing herself for what she knew he would say.

 

“I understand, if you’re not ready to tell me something. I know that you always have a reason for doing something . . .” Her insistence on keeping blankets on the sofa flashed through her mind, and a small smile formed on his face. “As ridiculous as the reason might be. Or as serious. But since you always have a reason, I’ll wait for when you decide to tell me, okay? I trust you—so I’ll give you time.”

 

Somin stared at him for a long time, but really, it was only a few seconds. And then she sighed, looking away, but not before Matthew saw the deep resignation in her eyes. “T-Thank you.”

 

And the atmosphere seemed to lighten.

 

 

 

 

 

“So we’re calling Hongbin in?”

 

“Yep,” Jae said, having just caught Matthew up to speed on the new developments. “He isn’t under arrest, but we just asked if he’d be willing to answer some questions, and he said sure.”

 

“Why would he willingly give us more info if he doesn’t have to?” Matthew grumbled. “He seemed pretty set on telling me to forget everything he’d said.”

 

“Well, guess he changed his mind. Oh look, I think Jiwoo’s bringing him up here now.” Jae clapped Matthew on the back. “And I emailed you the updates, in case you—oh, you don’t have your laptop, do you? Idiot . . . use my laptop for now—and look harder when you go back home.”

 

Matthew rolled his eyes, standing up to grab Jae’s laptop from his desk. He paused, though, when his phone began to vibrate.

 

“Somin? What’s up, do you need anything?”

 

“Yes—no—I mean—when are you coming home?”

 

Matthew frowned. It was rare for Somin to call him at work, and her voice sounded strange. Panic? “You okay?” he asked carefully. “Is something wrong?”

 

“No, I just—Matthew, _when are you coming home_?”

 

His frown deepened. Something was wrong. “When do you need me to be home?”

 

“As soon as you can, I found—” She cleared her throat. “I . . . I need to tell you something. In person.”

 

 _The ring? Or maybe not._ “Is it an emergency?”

 

“No, no—of course not. Just . . . get home as soon as you can?”

 

 _Probably the ring._ Matthew felt slightly relieved.

 

Matthew turned to Jae. He was talking to Jiwoo, who had just entered their office after leaving Hongbin in the interrogation room. “Hey, do I have anything to do after questioning Hongbin?”

 

“No, why?”

 

“Somin said she needs to tell me something, so I’ll need to take a break to talk to her.”

 

“Yeah, sure, I think that’s fine . . . do you have anything, Jiwoo?”

 

Jiwoo shook her head. “No, he can take a break after this.”

 

Matthew nodded in thanks, and then returned to his call. “I can get back right after this one questioning session. It should take ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be home in another ten.”

 

“Okay, yeah . . . that’s okay,” Somin said slowly. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it . . . love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew stepped inside the interrogation room with Jae’s laptop in hand. “How are you?” he asked, a gesture of courtesy, and Hongbin looked up.

 

His dark circles were even more pronounced, if that was even possible. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days; probably since Youngji’s death, in fact.

 

Suddenly, Matthew wondered if he was as unsympathetic as he believed himself to be toward Hongbin at this point. The promise he had made to Somin that fateful day still rang in his ears, and combined with the newfound knowledge that perhaps he was involved in Somin’s accident in a completely different manner, Matthew found himself more invested in Hongbin’s situation than he thought he could ever be. Had someone told him that fact just a month ago, he would have laughed in the person’s face.

 

“Doing okay?” Matthew asked again; for some reason, he felt like he needed a verbal confirmation from Hongbin, whether he accepted or denied the fact.

 

Hongbin sighed. “It’ll be okay.”

 

Matthew pretended to not notice the intentionally cryptic nature of the response. “Well, you know you’re here voluntarily, right? You’re not under arrest—you can leave at any point.”

 

Hongbin nodded, a tight smile on his face, as Matthew took a seat across from him. Matthew glanced to the right, unperturbed by his own reflection staring back at him, giving a signal through the one-way mirror that he was about to begin.

 

“This questioning session is being videotaped for future reference. I am inspector Matthew Kim. You are here today, May 14th, 2017, for questioning regarding your involvement in the fatal DUI case from December 26th, 2013. You are not obligated to respond, whether to particular questions or at all, if you do not want to, and you can access a lawyer at any time. If, at any point, you wish to take a break or end the questioning, let me know. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay . . . then, your name?”

 

“Lee Hongbin.”

 

“Date of birth?”

 

“September 29th, 1990.”

 

Matthew finished typing up the required information and then looked up. “So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to read to you the details of the original case report from four years ago. This is the information that the police working on the case at the time had gathered.” Hongbin nodded in acknowledgement, and Matthew pulled up the summary of the original report.

 

“On the night of December 26th, 2013, there was a car accident on the campus of Chaewon University, near the Chaewon University Library. There were four college students in the vehicle: Jeon Somin, Lee Jaehwan, Lee Hyeri, and you—Lee Hongbin. Does this all sound familiar?”

 

Hongbin nodded, his expression blank. Matthew sighed and continued.

 

“There was one witness, who called the police to the scene.” Hongbin seemed to stiffen, but that was the extent of his reaction. “The name of the witness is Kim Taehyung.”

 

Matthew cleared his throat. “The reason you were called here today is because of new information we have found regarding your involvement in the accident. The main point is that the accident is not on your medical records, even though we have a file of your hospitalization after the accident. Can you provide an explanation as to why?”

 

Hongbin stared at the table, seemingly unaffected, for longer than was natural for just thinking; Matthew was about to repeat the question when Hongbin spoke up. “I can,” he said.

 

Matthew held back his annoyance. “Are you willing to?”

 

“No.”

 

_He’s allowed to be like this. He’s allowed to be like this. He’s allowed to say no. Relax._

 

“Understood. Can you describe your relationship with each of the other three in the car?”

 

“Other three?”

 

“Jaehwan, Hyeri, and Somin.”

 

Hongbin cocked his head. “Jaehwan was my roommate, in college. He was . . . very easy-going. _Too_ easy-going, at times, and didn’t realize when something went too far, which got him in—in trouble. A lot. He . . . he was a good person.”

 

For Matthew, the last sentence sounded less like a statement of fact and more like Hongbin trying to convince himself.

 

“Hyeri was his girlfriend. Don’t know much about her, didn’t care much either. He didn’t really bring her to our dorm, thank god. I don’t know, she was probably a good person—she seemed nice, good for Jaehwan, but it’s awkward to be there when they’re, um, in the same room.”

 

Matthew fought the urge to smile at Hongbin’s discomfort.

 

“And Somin . . . she’s a good friend now, and she was a good friend at the time, too.” Hongbin seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and Matthew appreciated it. “She was just a positive person to be around.” He cleared his throat. “Um, so—is that enough about those three?”

 

“If you think it is,” Matthew replied, typing up the rest of his notes. “In that case, that’ll be all the questions for today. Would you be willing to return if we contacted you for more information?”

 

“Depending on my schedule. But sure, I guess.”

 

Matthew got back to his desk to pick up his phone and keys. “I’ll be heading home then—it should only be a few minutes. Do you need anything?”

 

Jae shook his head. “I’m good for now, Jiwoo went out to get us all coffee, but don’t worry, I’ll drink yours too.”

 

“Thanks man, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew was surprised that Somin didn’t answer the door when he rang the bell, especially since she would have known he was coming there. Confused, he dug out his keys and opened the door himself.

 

The TV in the living room was still running, but Matthew couldn’t see Somin on the sofa, or in the area for that matter. He glanced down the hall at the bathroom, but the door was slightly ajar and there was no light visible.

 

Matthew frowned. “Somin?” he called out, and he wished he could ignore the strange way that his gut was twisting even as he said her name. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. “Somin, I’m here.” He checked the bedroom. “Somin? Where are you?”

 

Five minutes later, Matthew was sure he had scoured the whole apartment, but there was no sign of Somin. Her phone was switched off. It was too early to jump to conclusions, but he knew, he _knew_ , that there was no other explanation.

 

And then his phone started vibrating on the counter. Matthew stood frozen for a fraction of a second before springing into action, almost dropping the phone in his hurry to answer. His brain barely registered that it was a private number, not Somin, but he was already answering.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Don’t worry about Somin,” a male voice answered. “She’ll be safe with me.”

 

Matthew’s blood ran cold. “. . . Excuse me?” he managed to say.

 

There was a laugh on the other end, but it was mocking, derisive. “I gave her back once, I might decide to do so again if it gets boring.”

 

His mind raced, connecting the dots quickly, but he knew that he was already too late. “J.Seph.”

 

“You’re smart, aren’t you? Just not smart enough.”

 

Matthew couldn’t bring himself to formulate a response—it was all he could do to avoid throwing his phone, and as a result breaking off the call, in frustration.

 

“This has been a nice game, but it’s gotten a little too close for comfort. Look forward to hearing back,” he said, his tone friendly despite the context.

 

He could feel his breathing becoming more erratic, so he gripped the kitchen counter and forced himself to take steady breaths. In his mind, he was no longer in his apartment, but at the entrance of the cul-de-sac.

 

The first time, he had watched while Somin was taken away, unable to help her.

 

The second time, he was too late to even try.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Reading over the police report on her accident was one thing that Somin never thought she would have to do.

 

It was strange, reading the third-person descriptions of an event so personal. The reports, the medical files, the car inspection, the crime scene . . . the consequences.

 

The first files were of Jaehwan and Hyeri. Her memories of them were faded; she hadn’t known them too well, and Youngji had told her that she’d gotten to know them the most in the days before the accident, and as a whole that period was a bit dimmer in her mind, not as clear. She spent a little more time when she reached her own file, one particular side effect standing out: _Apparent lacunar amnesia_.

 

The accident—and the day preceding it—was completely lost to her, and though the doctor had said the memories may return with time, it had been four years. Somin had largely given up, accepting that maybe forgetting it was for the best. She was about to move through the rest of the files when another memory—more recent—popped into her mind.

 

The broke, fiery remains of the car. The heat emanating from the wreckage. The light.

 

The voice. _“Holy fuck . . . Somin? Somin, can you hear me?”_

 

_Somin, can you hear me?_

 

Somin’s eyes snapped open. She had closed them while trying to remember—that had been during the accident. The car, it was burning—that was from that night. She had remembered that scene. She had remembered the car.

 

She had remembered.

 

There was something significant about the voice, though, and it was on the tip of her tongue, she just needed to finish reading the files, and maybe—

 

Hongbin.

 

The next medical file was Hongbin’s.

 

The voice had belonged to Hongbin.

 

The file slipped from Somin’s grasp.

 

Hongbin had been the one to call the police. She could remember the conversation, and snippets of other people talking—she remembered the way he was panicking—the way he kept trying to talk to her, even as the ambulance arrived. She hadn’t been able to respond the first time, even though she was awake; the second time, he hadn’t been there when she woke up.

 

Somin glanced back at the medical file and frowned. Why was he hospitalized? Did he get hurt trying to save her? But then a more pressing thought occurred—why hadn’t he been listed as a witness? Surely he would have told them something.

 

She jumped slightly when she heard Matthew’s laptop make a sound for a notification. She felt slightly guilty as she looked at it, at how Matthew trusted her enough to accept her answer when she said she hadn’t seen it. But that feeling was pushed to the back of her mind as she checked the notification—a new email.

 

Clicking on it, she downloaded the attachments, gathering the paper files into a neat pile as she waited. Once the attachments were downloaded, she clicked through them one at a time.

 

The first few were different reports on the medical history, and she quickly realized they pertained to Hongbin. Though it was a bit hard to understand the point of them without any clear objective, having read the paper files beforehand must have pointed her in the right direction—Somin recognized that there was no mention of an accident in Hongbin’s medical records. She decided that she would look more into that after checking the last attachment.

 

The last file was a PDF, an old article dated the day after the accident. They were interviews, she realized. Transcriptions of interviews of the victims’ friends and family. One interview in particular was marked in the PDF, so Somin zoomed in on that first.

 

And then blinked a few times, rereading it, sure that she had read the name wrong.

 

Kim Taehyung? She knew that Hongbin was the one that had called the police, so it should have said Lee Hongbin, not Kim—

 

_“I’m Kim Taehyung. Have you heard that name before?”_

 

Somin froze.

 

No.

 

She read the article again, but the text didn’t miraculously change in front of her eyes. The witness was Kim Taehyung. The witness was J.Seph.

 

J.Seph had probably known Somin beforehand. He may have recognized Matthew for sure, but now there was a possibility—with a high likelihood—that he had recognized her, too.

 

And then another thought—she hadn’t said Kim Taehyung in her statement, had she? She had skipped over that scene as quickly as she could, the memories sour in her mind, but that one part had never seemed essential anyway.

 

Matthew and his team knew about the witness, and they knew about J.Seph, they just didn’t have enough information to connect the two.

 

Before she knew it, her fingers were dialing Matthew’s number on her phone, even though her hand was trembling. He picked up after only a few rings.

 

“Somin? What’s up, do you need anything?”

 

“Yes—no—I mean—when are you coming home?” Somin coughed a few times to clear her throat.

 

She could practically see Matthew frowning. “You okay? Is something wrong?”

 

“No, I just—Matthew, _when are you coming home_?”

 

“When do you need me to be home?”

 

“As soon as you can, I found—” She cut herself off. She remembered the extent to which J.Seph had gone to cover his trace when getting Somin to just call him with information, and she had a strange thought that, maybe, the phone wasn’t the safest form of communication. She didn’t want to know what would happen to Matthew if J.Seph knew that she had told him, even if this helped the investigation . . . who knew how long the investigation would take. It certainly wouldn’t take J.Seph as long to retaliate. “I . . . I need to tell you something. In person.”

 

“Is it an emergency?”

 

Somin took a deep breath. “No, no—of course not. Just . . . get home as soon as you can?”

 

She could hear Matthew saying a few things to someone else. “I can get back right after this one questioning session. It should take ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be home in another ten.”

 

“Okay, yeah . . . that’s okay.” At least twenty minutes. She could survive for another twenty minutes. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it . . . love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

 

 

 

 

Somin uneasily paced around the room. Ten minutes left. Just ten minutes. Matthew’s laptop was where she had last touched it on the table, still open to the article. Her head began hurting as soon as she glanced at it, so she looked away quickly.

 

Then the apartment intercom chimed. Somin’s first reaction was relief—and then confusion. It had only been ten minutes.

 

Then fear.

 

She stood rooted in her spot for a few seconds before the intercom chimed again. _There’s a monitor. Just check the monitor._

 

Slightly less terrified, Somin went to check the monitor, and then breathed out in relief at the familiar face.

 

She opened the door with a smile. “Hey, Jiwoo,” she said, gesturing for the other girl to enter. “Did Matthew tell you to come here?”

 

Jiwoo didn’t respond, or even move. Somin looked at her carefully, getting a strange feeling in her stomach. Jiwoo’s hand reached behind her jacket, and Somin plastered a smile to her face. “Actually, I need to go check on something, I’ll be right ba—”

 

But Somin had barely blinked, let alone moved to shut the door, before Jiwoo’s foot was wedged between the door and the doorframe and Somin saw the flash of the hall lights glint off black metal. Jiwoo motioned with her gun for Somin to step out of the apartment, and Somin had no choice but to follow.

 

“Jiwoo?” Somin asked quietly, her mind refusing to comprehend the situation. This wasn’t happening. “What are you—”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jiwoo finally said. Her voice was shaky. “I have to.”

 

 

 

 

 


	17. 17

Matthew didn’t know when he managed to call the police, even Jae, but the next thing he knew, the apartment room was being carefully inspected for evidence. Jae had dragged Matthew away from the investigation, taking him down to the lobby of the apartment building.

 

He didn’t say anything more after being rebuffed the first few times, for which Matthew was grateful, and so they sat in a tense silence that gave Matthew ample opportunity to think of all the ways in which this could have been avoided—in which Matthew could have been something other than completely useless—in which Somin _wasn’t_ gone again—in which Matthew didn’t break his promise.

 

Eventually, Jae sighed, having been watching Matthew for the last ten, maybe fifteen minutes—Matthew wasn’t keeping track. “Matthew, talk to me.”

 

Matthew didn’t respond.

 

“Listen, man, you’re the one who reported her as missing, just like last time—” Matthew glared at Jae, and Jae huffed, leaning forward to meet his glare. “Don’t look at me like that. What have you been doing for the last twenty minutes? Just sitting here?” He gestured to the sofas they were sitting on. “What good is that doing?”

 

“Jae, I don’t think—”

 

“No, you _have_ to answer questions, just like last time. It’ll be more helpful this time because you know more answers. Just stop thinking about the fact that . . . that Somin isn’t here,” he said, dropping some of the harshness as he mentioned Somin, “and think about how to find her. Because this time, I don’t think J.Seph’s gonna that helpful.”

 

Matthew stared at the ground for a few seconds. He had to put up his shield again, the one that let him be just an officer. Somin was just another—another v-victim, just like in the other cases he dealt with. Nothing . . . nothing more. Finally, he took a breath and stood up. “Let’s head to the station.”

 

Jae stood up too and gave Matthew a reassuring pat on the back. “You can have my coffee too, when Jiwoo gets back. You might need it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Mechanical. It was all mechanical, all just a process. Just clearly state all the facts—the analysis, the thinking, that all comes later, but first, just get the facts out. And that required little thinking. At least, that’s what Matthew told himself.

 

It was a different interrogator from last time—this one was an older woman, her hair dyed an unnaturally striking black.

 

“You searched through the whole apartment, and then you got a call, correct?” Matthew nodded, and she looked back at her laptop. “Do you remember what was said during the call?”

 

Matthew nodded again, and then cleared his throat. These were just facts. “He said don’t worry about Somin, that she’d be safe with him . . . and that he’d give her back again if it got boring.”

 

Facts. They were just facts.

 

“That he already gave her back once. I figured that it was J.Seph, and he confirmed it.”

 

He couldn’t overthink facts.

 

“He said we were playing a game—that it became a little too close for comfort. And then he ended the call, saying I should look forward to hearing back from him.”

 

“Did you say anything in response?”

 

Matthew shook his head. “I didn’t have time, and I . . . I couldn’t think of much to say in the moment.”

 

The woman nodded, understanding. Unlike last time, this woman didn’t dwell on the same matter for too long, getting through the interrogation quickly.

 

Unlike last time, Matthew couldn’t completely build up his wall.

 

 

 

 

 

Little by little, by the end of the day, most of the evidence—and lack of evidence—was in, except for the fingerprinting. And it wasn’t comforting.

 

“No signs of forced entry . . .” Kevin flipped the page of his notepad, looking through the notes he’d scribbled from hanging around the crime scene. “In fact, the monitor shows that Somin had opened the door a few minutes before you came back.”

 

“Did you get the video feed?” Matthew asked, slightly more hopeful. “We have it set up so when people ring the bell, the camera starts recording it.”

 

“I had to get back here, but Jiwoo said she could look into getting the video files. Oh, speaking of Jiwoo—” He reached under his desk, bringing out a cup holder tray. “She handed the coffees to me—she came to the scene straight from there since she got the message, and she wanted to stay and watch over it a while, so she told me to go ahead and leave. So here ya go.” He took a cup and then pushed the tray toward Jae, who distributed a cup to Matthew and two for himself.

 

“What?” he said when both Kevin and Matthew rolled their eyes. “It’ll get cold by the time Jiwoo gets back. Why make her drink cold coffee?”

 

“Anyways.” Matthew turned back to Kevin. “What else did you find?”

 

“That’s the thing. There’s _nothing_. The rest of the cams—like the security footage from the parking garage, the elevators, the staircase, everything—it’s all been wiped for that day. The earliest footage from today starts a few minutes before your car pulled into the parking garage.”

 

Matthew forced his breathing to remain unaffected. _It’s just another case. Jeon Somin . . . is just another victim._ “So we probably can’t expect much from the home monitor, then, since whoever it was wiped the evidence from the rest of the building.”

 

Kevin nodded, his expression grim. “Exactly.”

 

“Ouch!” Jae yelped. Both Kevin and Matthew spun in their chairs to face him, only to find Jae cupping his hand over his mouth, his expression pained. “I didn’t think it’d still be hot. Fuck. When did Jiwoo buy these?”

 

Matthew laughed, careful when he took a sip from his own coffee. “You sure you can still drink both of them?”

 

Jae scoffed. “By the time I finish this one, the other would’ve cooled down a bit. I’ll be fine.”

 

 

 

 

 

It was getting dark outside by the time Jiwoo came back. “The monitor footage is gone.”

 

“As we expected,” Matthew said, and then he stopped short when he saw her face. Her face looked paler than usual, and her eyes were red-rimmed and oddly glazed over. “You okay?”

 

She froze in spot as everyone’s attention fell on her, and then she cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” She discreetly braced her hands on her desk, and Matthew noticed that she was wavering in her stance. “My phone got stolen, though, so don’t try calling it.”

 

Jae frowned. “Stolen?”

 

Jiwoo took a slow breath—a calming breath, Matthew realized, because she was still sniffling. “Yeah.” She stood up straight again, and then, since her hair was blocking her vision, she tucked it behind her ear. Matthew’s eyes widened. _What the fuck._ “But I’m fi—”

 

“What the fuck?” Jae’s chair scraped against the floor as he suddenly stood up. “Jiwoo, your face— _what the fuck happened?_ ”

 

Near her hairline, Jiwoo’s skin was a sickening shade of red mottled with hints of purple. Her hair concealed the extent of the bruise, but it was clear that it was much larger than what was visible. It was slightly swollen.

 

Jiwoo sighed, her shoulders drooping. “It’s fine, it was just a mugging—”

 

“ _Just_ a mugging?” Matthew said. He barked out a laugh, the frustration from Somin’s case and the disbelief at what happened to Jiwoo rendering him speechless.

 

Jae had him covered. “Fucking hell—you can’t just calmly walk back here and say it was ‘just a mugging’—there’s a price for assault, and assaulting a police officer is—”

 

“They just took my phone, all right?” Jiwoo said hotly. “It’s nothing big, so let’s just focus on the case. They didn’t know I was an officer.”

 

Jae was still standing up, looking at Jiwoo with a mixture of concern and incredulity, and Matthew still couldn’t find the words to say, when Kevin softly said, “Well, no one in their right mind would attack an officer knowingly. Do you want to go to a hospital? Check for a concussion or something? That bruise looks nasty already—” Kevin frowned. “How long has it been? Was it before you came to the crime scene and dropped off the coffee?”

 

Jiwoo smiled stiffly. “It’s fine, honestly, I’ll—”

 

But Jae was picking up his phone and keys. “We’re going to a hospital.”

 

“I said I’ll be fine, it’s just a bru—”

 

“And if it’s a concussion?” Jiwoo didn’t have a response to that other than another sigh, so Jae walked over to the door and opened it for her. “After you.”

 

Jiwoo stepped into the hallway, and Jae gave Kevin and Matthew a small nod to say bye before the door closed behind him.

 

The two could hear Jiwoo’s voice faintly through the door. “You’re being _really_ fucking extra, you know.”

 

Matthew smiled at that, but, remembering the look in her eyes before she knew everyone was watching her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was worse than Jiwoo was letting on.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Somin woke up with a headache, but no other pain. Some part of her mind remembered the vivid sensation of being stabbed with the tranquilizer syringe, but when she reached up to touch her neck, all she felt was the slight scabbing, no new injuries—and her hands weren’t bound.

 

Her heart leapt with joy, for a full second believing she had only been dreaming, but then she recognized that she was in a car, and she still felt the smell of something faintly sweet. There was also a dull sensation of something cold against her side, right below her ribs. The gun.

 

“Want water?”

 

She turned toward the familiar voice, the familiar face, and despite the familiarity she couldn’t help but feel as if she didn’t really know Jiwoo at all—the trust that she had placed in the girl simply because Matthew trusted her was replaced by a deep sense of regret.

 

Somin’s expression must have made her thoughts clear, because Jiwoo turned away.

 

“Why?” Somin asked, her voice soft, and she felt the gun press harder into her side. She’d felt worse. “Jiwoo . . . everyone trusted—still trusts you.” The muzzle of the gun was digging into her side now, and she could begin to sense pain.

 

 _The muzzle of the gun was digging into her head, but she couldn’t move—she was as far as she could get, and she knew she’d have a mark from where the cuff was digging into her foot, but he was still too close and she didn’t know who else was there—she couldn’t see—but she could_ hear _them, they—_

 

“Somin?”

 

Her eyes refocused on the present, and she was face to face with Jiwoo looking at her with what seemed to be concern. The gun was still in Jiwoo’s hand, pointed at Somin, but wasn’t touching her anymore.

 

“Somin, I won’t hurt you, I’m sorry, I just—” Jiwoo cut herself off, and Somin realized that the heavy breathing was her own. She blinked rapidly, and only then did she feel that her eyes were watering up. “I wouldn’t do this, not if there was any other way.”

 

Jiwoo was sympathetic, Somin realized. Maybe . . .

 

Somin swallowed, hoping her voice would come out steady. It didn’t, which she supposed was better anyway. “Th-there’s always . . . another w-way,” she said between sniffles.

 

Jiwoo frowned, looking down, and shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Do you want water? Something to eat?” Somin looked around and realized they were in a gas station, though a nearly empty one at that. Besides, she didn’t want to risk trying to escape—even if Jiwoo wouldn’t kill her, she’d certainly know how to stop her.

 

“You should eat something,” Jiwoo said, though it came out more like a question than a suggestion. “I don’t know . . . how . . . how it’ll be—your situation, I mean—later on.”

 

Somin bit her lip to try to distract herself, but it wasn’t too effective.

 

_They’d been laughing, taunting her, telling her that no one would believe her since she had no evidence but her own memories._

 

“Somin, please don’t—don’t cry—”

 

“Do you want me to _smile_ , and _thank_ you for everything?” Somin snapped. She looked away, hating that Jiwoo had the audacity to look hurt—but Somin hated even more that she felt guilty for hurting Jiwoo.

 

This wasn’t fair. Had it been another person, someone like the first guy that had kidnapped her with brute force—a complete stranger—she would have been okay. At least, it would have been better than this clawing feeling of betrayal, conflicting with the natural urge to trust because this was someone Somin _knew_ —

 

“Yours wasn’t the only car,” Jiwoo whispered. Somin had to take a second to process that, not only because it was out of the blue, but because Jiwoo’s voice was so quiet that Somin wasn’t sure if Jiwoo had been talking to herself.

 

“What?”

 

Jiwoo turned to look at her, and this time she thought she saw a hint of anger, but it was quickly replaced by sadness. The same pitiful look she’d been giving Somin since forcing her to come out of her apartment. “Four years ago, your car didn’t run into a tree, like in all the reports,” Jiwoo said, her voice stronger this time. “There was another car.”

 

Somin blinked at Jiwoo, confused. “Another car? How could the reports miss mentioning another car?”

 

“Just like how J.Seph caused the accident but made Hongbin take the blame,” she said, her tone caustic. “It doesn’t matter _how_. But that’s what happened. But if I want to keep my brother alive . . .” she said slowly, and then she looked up to meet Somin’s eyes. “I have to do this. There _is_ no other way. Not in this case.”

 

Glancing at the time, she shifted the gear into drive. “Guess you’re not getting water then,” she said brusquely. She pulled out of the gas station with one hand on the steering wheel, the other on her gun. “I have to get back to work after this.”

 

Somin turned away, staring out the window, watching as another car pulled into the gas station as they were already leaving.

 

 

 

 

 

Somin was shaken awake, and when she opened her eyes she recognized the place that she had been to only once prior—the parking garage. There was more light this time, though, so it must have still been sometime in the afternoon.

 

“Let’s go.” Jiwoo kept her gun trained on Somin as they both stepped out. Somin still remembered the way to the elevator, and as they waited, she stared at Jiwoo, not looking away even as the other girl averted her eyes every few seconds.

 

Somin hoped that, somehow, Jiwoo would understand her unspoken plea. If she got in that elevator, then there was no going back.

 

But the elevator ride was silent, and Somin was starting to lose even the small shred of hope she had.

 

The elevator still didn’t display the floor number, but after a few minutes passed the elevator dinged and the doors opened. It was a hallway, just like last time, but Somin barely remembered anything from the last time. She should, technically, have been more capable of focusing now, without any sedatives in her system, but she couldn’t bring herself to. What was the point?

 

After a few minutes, they approached a familiar set of double doors, and Somin stiffened. She turned to Jiwoo again, her eyes wide, but Jiwoo wasn’t even bothering to look at her.

 

“Jiwoo, please, I’ll—”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Somin felt a sudden tightness in her chest—she couldn’t go back—she couldn’t breathe— “I’ll help you get away too, please—”

 

“Stop talking—”

 

“You can’t work for him forever, he doesn’t care, he won’t keep helping you—your brother—for—”

 

“ _Shut_ _the_ _fuck_ _up_!” Jiwoo said, her voice the loudest Somin had heard her. Suddenly, she shoved Somin forward, as if to make her walk faster, but Somin was so taken aback that she tripped and fell to the ground, the sound of her knees against the tile flooring echoing in the empty hall.

 

Then Jiwoo was crouching down, her face level with Somin’s . . . but her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and she was blinking to keep them at bay. “You don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about. So just keep your mouth shut, all right?” She roughly yanked Somin up by her arm, and Somin yelped in pain, trying to yank her arm away, but Jiwoo wouldn’t let go and kept dragging her toward the door and then her hand found Somin’s—

 

And she slipped something into Somin’s hand. Though Somin couldn’t see, she stopped struggling because she knew, without a doubt, that it was a cell phone. She tried to look at Jiwoo, but Jiwoo yanked her forward again. “Keep moving,” she said loudly, but then, under her breath, she muttered, “Keep struggling and I’ll talk.”

 

Somin didn’t need to be told twice. She visibly tried to pull away from Jiwoo, but she kept her struggling quiet to hear Jiwoo.

 

“That’s an old phone. I put my SIM into it, it’s my number, so don’t turn it on until you need to. When you do, keep it on airplane mode. If you understand, step on my foot— _fuck_!” she shouted suddenly as Somin stomped down on her shoe. She felt sorry, but justified that Jiwoo deserved at least that for bringing Somin here in the first place. “Keep it hidden, or we’re both dead,” Jiwoo said, wincing with each subsequent step, and working under the cover of her own jacket and Somin’s thick sweater, she shoved the phone into the waistband of Somin’s jeans.

 

Before Somin realized, they were at the doors, and two men in suits—whether they were the same ones or different ones, she couldn’t tell and she didn’t care—led them to another room. One of them seemed to offer to take Somin off of Jiwoo’s hands, but she rejected him with a glare.

 

Then they reached the second and last door—the men stayed outside this time after opening the door.

 

The small sense of security against her hip in the form of the cell phone paled in comparison to the sudden, instinctive rush of fear that came with the sight of J.Seph.

 

He was smiling.

 

“Welcome back, love,” he said, and Somin held back her shudder. She leaned slightly toward Jiwoo, because even though Somin had realized that she didn’t know Jiwoo too well either, she certainly trusted her more than she trusted J.Seph. He caught the movement, and his attention shifted to Jiwoo. Somin felt the other girl’s grip slacken.

 

“Don’t worry, Jiwoo, you did well. Thank you for bringing the life back into my work.”

 

Jiwoo only bowed in response.

 

“You’re heading back to work, I assume?”

 

She cleared her throat. “Yes, sir.”

 

“You’re dismissed, then—wait. They’ll question why you’ve been gone so long, won’t they?” he said thoughtfully.

 

Jiwoo froze, and Somin felt a strange sense of dread come over her. “Sorry, sir?”

 

“It doesn’t take this long to do much of anything, really . . . you’ll need a better excuse than traffic. They’ll check that.”

 

He moved Somin away from Jiwoo by pulling her by the arm that Jiwoo wasn’t holding. Somin stumbled to the other side as J.Seph walked slowly toward Jiwoo. Despite her wide eyes, Jiwoo didn’t back away.

 

“What if, perhaps, you were mugged on the way back?”

 

Jiwoo blinked. “Sorry, sir, I don’t underst—”

 

J.Seph cut her off by grabbing her by her hair and slamming the side of her head into the wall.

 

Somin screamed.

 

He let go after only once, though, and Jiwoo slid down against the wall, her hands clutching her head. Somin ran to her without thinking, and when she placed a hand on Jiwoo’s shoulder she felt her taking in shuddering breaths. “Oh god, are you o—”

 

But then J.Seph was pulling Somin up, away from Jiwoo, and when Somin tried to push him off he roughly yanked her toward him. His hand was circled in a vise-like grip around her waist; if he moved it any lower he would feel the outline of the phone. Somin froze.

 

“Well aren’t _you_ quite the caring soul?” he said softly into her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, he was so close. “Tell me, how would you like it if we didn’t let her go back? What if we set something up nearby—in Daejung Offices, perhaps?”

 

Somin was shaking her head before he even finished. “No, please don’t hurt her—”

 

“But she did bring you back here, didn’t she? Since you aren’t angry with her, does that mean you _wanted_ to come back?”

 

Somin swallowed nervously, not knowing how to answer. Hell, he could think whatever he wanted, as long as Jiwoo got out of this alive.

 

“Come on, you must hate her a little? Just a little? No?” J.Seph cocked his head to the side. “Here, why don’t you get a little revenge then. It’s small, don’t worry, she’ll be fine in a few hours.” Despite Somin’s protests, he pulled her with him back to where Jiwoo was still sitting huddled up against the wall, cradling her head.

 

J.Seph covered Somin’s hand with his own as he guided her. “Now, you grab her hair like _this_ —” This time, Jiwoo cried out as J.Seph—while crushing Somin’s hand under his—grabbed the same chunk of hair as earlier and jerked her head up. She stood up shakily, supporting herself by leaning against the wall. “Then, you pull back so you can get a good swing, and you just—”

 

He was strong. So much stronger than Somin expected, because this was the first time she had felt the force of him hitting someone else. Somin’s fingers hurt from the impact of Jiwoo’s head slamming against the wall, but her own pain was at the back of her mind—she _felt_ the loud thud of Jiwoo’s head hitting the wall in her gut, and she saw clearly how, in the split second before Jiwoo collapsed onto the floor, screaming, Jiwoo’s face contorted with pain.

 

Somin was screaming too, but then J.Seph was covering her mouth with his hand, the one that had been around her waist; his other hand was still holding onto Somin’s. “Shhh,” he said gently. “You’ll give her a headache if you keep screaming.”

 

As he towed Somin to the other door behind his desk, she kept her eyes on Jiwoo, begging her—though her words were muffled by J.Seph’s hand—to stand up, to look up, to at the least _be okay_ —

 

Jiwoo didn’t move even as the two men in suits dragged her out of the room by her arms.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~hi who's ready for j.seph to be a sadistic little motherfucker~~ so that happened. oh how i love complicated plotlines ...
> 
> i'll warn you all now that the next chapter will have a shitload of trigger warnings right at the beginning, so like ... pay attention to them guys


	18. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this isn't the chapter with the shit ton of warnings but like ... stay tuned. but also ... violence? (???but isn't that almost every chapter lmao)

She was back in the penthouse. She hadn’t been paying attention to where the door was leading, but soon she recognized the doors, though she had always been on the other side.

 

J.Seph all but threw her through the doorway. On hindsight, maybe struggling the entire way—including stomping none too gently on his feet—wasn’t the best idea. It wasn’t like Somin would have managed to get away—she was only delaying the inevitable, and irritating J.Seph in the process.

 

He left her there for hours—the rest of the night passed, and Somin stayed on the floor, everything aching, including her head. She wanted to look at the phone, but she wasn’t sure how secure the penthouse was about her own privacy—she doubted she had much.

 

She drifted in and out of sleep, but then, as the sky began changing from grey to blue, she heard the door open and immediately snapped to attention.

 

J.Seph was just as irritated as he had been when he had left her yesterday. “You know, I thought you’d appreciate all of this—I promised, didn’t I, that you’d see Matthew again?” He closed the door behind him. “And instead of _just_ seeing each other, I let you be together for over a week. There would have been other ways to get what I need—I didn’t have to do any of this.”

 

Somin fought back the urge to stay curled up on the floor and forced herself to stand up. “Then why did you? If you didn’t have to do any of this—then—then why the hell did you?”

 

He raised his eyebrows, his grin somewhat amused. He still looked amused—he always looked amused. After killing Lee that first day, after killing Youngji, after kill—no, after hurting Jiwoo because Jiwoo _can’t_ be dead . . . and forcing Somin to be the one to hurt her . . . he still managed to be amused. Somin could feel her hands trembling, but rather than fear it was out of anger.

 

“You’re just like Matthew—you never understand, even if the answer has been spelled out for you.” His smile widened, but it stopped reaching his eyes. “He needs to stop trying to break Sangchul Medical. Unfortunate, that you were caught in the crossfire, but I suppose it was for the best. Now even as he tries breaking my partnership, I’ll be breaking him. By using you.”

 

He reached out, as if to grab Somin’s arm, but Somin swatted it away and stepped back. “I . . . am done.” He quirked an eyebrow. Somin took a deep breath. “I’m not helping you. Not anymore. I’m not going to help you keep ruining people’s lives, _including_ _mine_. You can’t do that.”

 

“And who says I can’t?” J.Seph asked, taking another step closer.

 

This time, Somin stood her ground and prayed that she wouldn’t faint as she looked him straight in the eyes. “You knew me, didn’t you?”

 

There—a spark of confusion. “What?”

 

“You knew me. From that car accident four years ago.”

 

And there, in his eyes, was a hint of what Somin dared to think was disbelief. Somin couldn’t revel in her victory for long, though, because then his smirk was back, and she felt goosebumps raise on her arms. The silence in the room as neither of them spoke was almost deafening.

 

“Not bad. Not bad at all,” J.Seph says, a hint of praise in his voice. “You’re proving to be worth the headache of leaving you alive the first time. I think I even prefer you to Matthew.” Then he tilted his head. “Remember anything else?”

 

“S-sorry, what?” Somin managed to say in her confusion.

 

He took another step closer. “What _else_ do you remember?”

 

Somin considered stepping back, but no—she needed to hold her ground. “Why does that matter?”

 

“I need to see if you know too much.” His smirk widened. “Jiwoo did say you called to tell Matthew something. What exactly did you tell him?”

 

“Nothing.” She regretted it now—if she was going to end up back here anyway, then helping the investigation was the least she could have done. But Matthew’s safety . . . she held back a sigh. There was no winning, was there?

 

J.Seph raised an eyebrow. “But you were going to tell him something, weren’t you? What was that?”

 

And then it clicked. J.Seph had covered his tracks so well—even Matthew had told her that there was practically no direct connection to him from _anything_. Then why would his name have been on the witness list . . . unless he didn’t know about it?

 

She could have been overthinking it, overcomplicating it, but her gut told her to not divulge that information.

 

“Nothing, really.”

 

But Somin had stayed silent a moment too long.

 

“Is it wrong that I don’t believe you?”

 

 _Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe._ “Really, it was nothing—I’d just—I’d been acting really weird, and I didn’t know if he noticed something was off—”

 

_You’re talking too fast. This explanation is too convoluted._

 

“—I just wanted to avoid misunderstandings.”

 

And when J.Seph’s eyes narrowed, Somin knew she had screwed up. Her only comfort came from the fact that he was still kind of smiling.

 

“All right. You’re done helping me, is that what you said?”

 

She didn’t know if she was supposed to nod.

 

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind helping yourself, am I right?” He began walking away, looking at his phone, but Somin still didn’t find it any easier to breathe. “Or more specifically, your boyfriend.”

 

Somin froze. Matthew. J.Seph could still hurt him. She couldn’t go on a rebellious streak just because of Jiwoo—she had to consider Matthew. “What . . . do you mean?” she asked slowly.

 

When he turned around, his smile was full of mischief, much like a child’s when pulling a prank. “Let’s see if you can find him before he’s killed.” He took something out of his pocket and tossed it at her, and Somin instinctively stepped away, letting it hit the ground rather than catching it. She heard J.Seph sigh as she bent to pick up—keys. They were keys.

 

Car keys.

 

“The car’s in the garage. I’m not sure when the drinks will be served, but he really shouldn’t be drinking them.”

 

Somin stared at the keys in her hands, not comprehending.

 

J.Seph repeated, “The car’s in the garage. The guards will escort you there. If you want to save him, you’ll find him in time.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“Done,” Jae announced, closing his file with a loud thud and pushing his chair back from the desk. He grinned when he realized everyone was glaring at him, and that he had even made Jiwoo jump slightly with his outburst. “I’ll go turn this in to Director Park.”

 

“Which one did you finish?” Kevin asked as he looked at the other files on his own desk.

 

“Youngji’s,” said Jae as he picked up the file and started toward the door. “Don’t worry—you already did two of ’em right? I can take Ahn’s next.”

 

“Actually—” But the door had already closed behind Jae. Kevin sighed.

 

“Something about Ahn?” Matthew asked.

 

Kevin shrugged. “His file can’t be written up yet. We still need to investigate to confirm the data about his identity as Mawang, because we got the tip anonymously. And I’ve done some research” —sounds of rapid typing— “tracing him to a bar in the city. Went there a lot, particularly in the days before his death . . .”

 

“So you need someone to check it out?”

 

“Yeah, and other than Jae.” He sighed again. “The last time I took him to investigate someone he practically started analyzing the situation out loud, right in front of the guy. Needless to say, he should be left behind the scenes. Anyways,” he said, looking back to his computer, “I’ve gotten permission to access the security cams, and Ahn always interacted with the same bartender. Get to that bartender, and I think we’ll have something on Mawang.”

 

Matthew pushed himself back from his desk and stretched his arms out. “Is it open now?” When Kevin nodded, Matthew stood up. “I guess I’ll—”

 

“I don’t know if today will work, though. I still have to finish writing formal reports for some of the older cases that we pushed aside to deal with this . . . I won’t be able to go with you, and with Ahn’s reputation I wouldn’t recommend going alone. We don’t know if the bartender is as risky as—”

 

Jiwoo cleared her throat to interrupt. Slowly, she stood up, and glancing between Kevin and Matthew, said, “What am I, chopped liver?”

 

Matthew had to hold back a laugh; even Kevin smiled. But then they were serious again, because Jiwoo’s glare had a way of dampening the mood. “You’ve already been hurt,” Matthew said. “And if anything escalates there, then—”

 

“Then you’ll need more than a researcher to defend your ass.” Not bothering with further argument, Jiwoo grabbed her bag, her keys rattling as she picked them up. “I’m coming with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

“This is it?” Matthew said as they came to a stop in front of the entrance.

 

“It’s the address Kevin sent, isn’t it?” Jiwoo craned her neck to see beyond the line and the bouncer, but it was too dark. “It doesn’t look like much.”

 

“Not a place I’d expect a drug dealer to frequent.” Matthew glanced at the line again, and then back to Jiwoo. “Let’s head in.”

 

It was hard to notice from the outside because the hall leading into the main room was dark and relatively unlit, but as soon the door opened to the center of the bar they were able to see why Ahn had chosen this bar. It was a western-style bar, and personal tastes aside, it looked rather high end and expensive—neon lights in varying shades of blue, purple, and pink; sleek, steel bar stools under a long chrome table. The lights were reflecting off of everything, creating a psychedelic aura. On the far end was a small stage setup up with a disco ball and karaoke machine, already being used by people that were far from sober.

 

Jiwoo whistled. “Damn.”

 

Matthew nodded. “And it’s only the evening.”

 

“We have the picture of the bartender, right?”

 

“Yep,” he said, rummaging through his pocket. He pulled out a small piece of paper, a printout of the clearest screen capture from the security feed. Though his facial features were still somewhat questionable from the image quality, his hair was noticeably light despite the black and white picture. Jiwoo had immediately decided that he was blond.

 

“That’s how my hair looks in black and white pictures,” she had explained.

 

There weren’t any open spots around the main bar anyway, so they took a small table in the corner that still had a view of the bartenders. After ordering a few shots to look normal—they couldn’t drink on the job, but they also couldn’t just sit there at an empty table without drawing attention to themselves—they furtively kept the bar in the periphery of their vision.

 

A hostess came with their drinks and then left, but there was still no sign of that bartender. Jiwoo drummed her fingers against the table. “How do you drink without getting drunk?” When Matthew raised a questioning eyebrow, she said, “We look strange since we’re not talking. People usually come here to talk, don’t they?”

 

“And drink.”

 

Jiwoo rolled her eyes. “And drink. But we can’t do that without compromising the investigation, so” —resting her chin on her hand, as if this were a normal conversation— “how do you drink without getting drunk?”

 

Matthew looked at their drinks thoughtfully. “You . . . don’t?”

 

She laughed. “Wrong. It’s not perfect, but there are some ways.” She pushed her glass to the middle of the table. “First, add a lot of ice, even though drinks are usually served cold. Then if you have to drink, drink slowly to give the ice time to melt, so that the drink is too diluted to do much harm.”

 

“That wouldn’t work in a Korean bar, would it? You don’t drink soju with ice.”

 

“Like I said, it’s not perfect. Western bars like this are better.” She swirled the glass around, the ice she had ordered clinking against the sides. “They might look at you funny, but hey—you look like a foreigner anyway. And as soon as they hear your name they won’t really question what you do anymore.” She laughed again as Matthew rolled his eyes.

 

“Any other tips?”

 

Jiwoo all but dropped her glass onto the table, and some of the alcohol sloshed over the sides. “Spill. A lot. In addition to not drinking as much since you’re spilling it all, you also look more drunk than you are. Combine these with A+ acting, and you're good to go.” She glanced back at the bar. “How often do they change shifts?”

 

Matthew mentally pulled up the email Kevin had sent with all the information. “Every six hours. But this bartender showed up during all the shifts—whenever Ahn was there, really.”

 

“So he probably won’t come out again unless it’s someone like Ahn, will he?” Her phone started ringing, then, and she fumbled to answer it.

 

Meanwhile, Matthew nodded slowly. “I’ll . . . ask about Ahn. Say that I know him or something,” he said, standing up. Jiwoo nodded as she answered the call.

 

But when he got to the bar, a blond bartender was already waiting for him. Hair tied in a low ponytail and face framed with large, rimless circle glasses, he greeted Matthew with a bow. “Welcome,” he said. “Friend of Ahn Hyunsuk?”

 

Matthew was immediately suspicious. “. . . Yes.”

 

“Then what is his true name?”

 

Matthew blinked—once, twice, before it hit him. “Mawang.”

 

The bartender bowed again. “Please, have a seat. I will bring your drinks out shortly.”

 

Still taken aback, Matthew walked back to the table, where Jiwoo was already done with the call and was watching Matthew carefully. “What was that?”

 

“He was already there when I walked up. He asked for Ahn’s pseudonym, and said he’ll bring drinks shortly.” He caught Jiwoo’s expression—she was frowning, now looking at the bar. “What’s wrong?”

 

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

 

A few minutes passed—it felt slow, but it had only been a little over five minutes—until the bartender emerged again from the employees only door at the corner of the bar, holding a plate of drinks. As he approached, he made eye contact with Matthew and gave a courtesy smile.

 

“There he is,” Matthew said, and Jiwoo turned to look.

 

When he arrived at their table, he set the plate down at the center, setting the new drinks down and putting the drinks they had previously ordered back on the plate. “I will remove these, and then we can talk. Please, have a drink. It is on the house.”

 

Both Matthew and Jiwoo bowed slightly in thanks, and watched as the man walked away. Jiwoo picked up the glass first. “Would he notice if we spilled these?”

 

“I think he would. He works— _worked_ —with Ahn, remember? He was probably a connection too, and in that case he’d have to be careful with details.”

 

Jiwoo nodded, setting the glass back down.

 

Matthew wasn’t an avid drinker, despite the drinking culture in South Korea. But he had to admit—this drink looked interesting, with it’s bright blue color. It seemed to be a western thing; he wouldn’t have known, though, since he didn’t typically go to western-style bars.

 

Then the man returned, and he pulled up another stool to their table. “You are a friend of Ahn, yes?”

 

With a confirming glance at each other, both of them nodded. “Yes,” Matthew said, “we worked at Sangchul Medical together.”

 

“Ah, then you have heard of his passing?”

 

This time with grim expressions, they nodded again.

 

“I am glad he has sent another in his place, as a way for business to continue growing,” the man started, looking pointedly at Matthew.

 

Matthew smiled, and when the man took a second to glance back at the rest of the bar, he looked at Jiwoo, brows slightly furrowed. _Where is this going?_

 

Jiwoo lifted her shoulders slightly, not noticeable if one wasn’t looking. _Can’t tell._

 

Then the man returned his attention to their table. “It was a brilliant step. To celebrate this continuation, we must have a toast.” It was only when he lifted his own glass that Matthew realized he had brought another drink for himself. When neither Matthew nor Jiwoo reacted, the man looked pointedly at their drinks, then back to them. “A toast,” he repeated, gesturing with his glass.

 

“Of course,” Jiwoo said quickly, covering up for their late reaction. She lifted her glass to the center, and Matthew did the same.

 

“To the growth of a successful business,” the man said as the glasses clinked together, and then he took a sip of his drink as he continued watching Matthew and Jiwoo.

 

Matthew put the glass to his lips, curious as to how it would taste. After all, he had never tried a drink that looked like this one before.

 

And then the glass was knocked out of his hands, shattering as it hit the ground. Matthew reactively stood up and stepped back, knocking the stool over in the process.

 

“Don’t drink it, I’m sorry, I love you, run!” said a very, _very_ familiar voice. The two hands shoved him farther away from the table, and the familiar brunette hair passed in front of him, nearly jumping over the mess of the broken glass in her haste to get away.

 

Matthew stood frozen for exactly one second, a disbelieving whisper of “Somin” slipping through as shock overpowered common sense, before he whirled around to see her retreating figure. “Somin!”

 

Barely noticing how Jiwoo was also standing, shocked and staring at the scattered remains of her own glass, he ran after her as she disappeared through the entrance door. He was faster, but she had already gotten a head start—and he was disoriented.

 

Somin.

 

Somin was here.

 

The door had already closed behind her by the time he reached it, and his heart dropped when he saw that she wasn’t in the hall either. By the time he skidded to a stop at the curbside, eyes darting around and neck almost snapping with how quickly he was turning around looking for her, she was already gone.

 

And there was a woman’s scream, followed by a burst of pain in his shoulder.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Somin could not remember driving that quickly in her entire licensed life. It was probably unsafe, in hindsight, that she immediately started the engine upon reaching the car since she had still been disoriented from the blindfold the guards had used to get her to the parking garage, but if she didn’t get to Matthew in time then driving safe was useless anyway.

 

She had to find Matthew.

 

J.Seph hadn’t said it out loud, but if she was caught then all bets would be off on the safety of both her and Matthew—so she had to avoid detection. Somin huffed as she turned out of the parking garage. She was an interior designer, not a police officer. It felt oddly ironic.

 

She also hadn’t gone to work in so long—

 

 _Not the time, idiot_.

 

Somin breathed out, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. “Right,” she said out loud. “Find Matthew.”

 

J.Seph had said drinks—but Matthew didn’t usually drink, and even if he did he wouldn’t take time off work to do so in the middle of the evening. That probably meant it was for an investigation . . .

 

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t notice the car in front of her slowing to a stop at the light until the last second. She reacted on instinct and slammed on the brakes.

 

The snapped in place as it held her back despite the sudden stop. “Shit,” she muttered—the seatbelt had dug into her side, and she felt the cell phone pressing painfully into her hip—

 

 _The cell phone_.

 

She could call Jiwoo. If it was an investigation, then Jiwoo would at least know where Matthew was—

 

Somin turned into the next spot she found with parking—a small shopping complex, with a few department stores and what looked like a bar.

 

She vaguely realized that, if only she had the option, she could probably head home now. She mentally made a note to remember where the parking garage was. That way, if she somehow got out again, she could try to help the investigators trace J.Seph’s location—but then she shot the idea down. With how far the guards had taken her around in the blindfold, she couldn’t even tell if they had still been in the same building in that set of complexes. Nevertheless, even if the investigators had the location, they still wouldn’t be able to do anything—there was nothing concrete proving him to be J.Seph.

 

The name Kim Taehyung rang in her head, and Somin resisted the urge to slam her head against the steering wheel in frustration.

 

As soon as she parked, Somin snapped the seatbelt off and moved to take the phone out—but then froze. She didn’t know if the car was bugged or anything, and she knew that if J.Seph found out she had a phone, then escape down the line would be impossible.

 

Instead, she stepped out of the car and, locking it, walked into one of the department stores in the complex and headed straight for the bathrooms. There, Somin took out the phone and studied it for a few seconds. It was an old phone, but nothing as old as the phone she had used to call J.Seph at the coffee shop—this was an old iPhone . . . the 4? 4S? Somin quickly turned it on as she walked into one of the bathroom stalls.

 

Once it was powered on, Somin went to the phone app. Thankfully, there were only two numbers loaded on there—the one of the special investigations unit at the police station, and the other labeled “Jiwoo NEW”. Taking a deep breath, Somin selected Jiwoo’s new number and hit call.

 

The phone rang two, three times before Jiwoo picked up. “Hello?” she said, confusion evident in her voice.

 

Somin knew she could explain at a later time, if everything worked out. “Jiwoo, _where are you_?”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll explain later, I don’t have time,” Somin said, hoping the desperation was conveyed by her tone. “Is Matthew with you?”

 

Jiwoo cleared her throat. “Yeah.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“A bar downtown—Blue Moon. Wait, I’ll text you the address—”

 

Somin was tapping her foot with nervousness at this point. She could tell Jiwoo not to drink anything, but that would draw suspicion to her and she didn’t want Matthew to raise his guard against her—or worse, for J.Seph to know that Jiwoo was helping her. The phone vibrated to signal an incoming message, and Somin copied and pasted it into the maps application.

 

Her eyes widened. It was a couple meters away.

 

Religion wasn’t a big part of her life, but Somin thanked anyone that was listening.

 

“Thanks,” she said quickly to Jiwoo before hanging up. Taking another look at the map to memorize her location relative to the bar, she put the phone on airplane mode as she remembered Jiwoo telling her to; and then, putting the phone in her bra for safekeeping, she ran. Out of the bathroom, out of the department store, down the sidewalk—narrowly missing a couple walking toward her—and around the corner. The bouncer looked distracted as he tried settling down a man making a fuss at the entrance—without hesitation, Somin ran past him into the bar, hoping security wouldn’t get to her before she got to Matthew.

 

As soon as she got inside she had to blink a few times to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Even before she could clearly see, though, she was scanning the entire room, and to avoid being caught immediately by security she began walking around the edge of the room, her eyes looking for one person only.

 

She was on the other side of the room from the entrance when she finally caught sight of Matthew. He was with Jiwoo at a table in the corner she had hurriedly walked past. Her breath caught as she considered the possibility that she had been seen—Matthew would never let her leave—but no, he was listening to another man, whose uniform indicated that he was a bartender. The man raised his glass for what Somin could easily see was a toast.

 

_“I’m not sure when the drinks will be served, but he really shouldn’t be drinking them.”_

 

Somin _ran_.

 

And before she knew it, she had reached the table, and without thinking she knocked the glasses away from both Jiwoo and Matthew, then jumped back as the glasses clattered and cracked, shards flying across the floor. Both of them were too stunned to pay attention to her quite already—but the bartender had stood up, backing away, and was staring at her in a way that made her skin crawl.

 

She had to leave.

 

Somin never really had a chance to think about what her last words would be—no, these weren’t going to be her last words because she _would_ get out of this. But right then, at the moment, all she could say in a garbled rush with her words running into each other was: “Don’t drink it, I’m sorry, I love you, run!”

 

But the last part was directed more at herself, because the bartender was reaching into his apron and Somin’s memory of Jiwoo reaching into her pocket resurfaced in a flash. She couldn’t stay, as much as she wanted to—she had to leave. She had to run. She’d saved Matthew, and now she had to keep it that way.

 

The adrenaline made it feel like it had been forever since the glasses had broken because her brain was noticing every detail, but barely a few seconds had actually passed. In the next second, she was hopping over the mess she had made, and made a beeline for the exit.

 

She heard him calling after him just as the door to the first hall closed behind her—but she couldn’t look back, because it was too tempting to just stay.

 

It was the same bouncer from earlier, but he could care less who was leaving—he had enough to deal with while taking care of who was entering.

 

But by following her Matthew would look around the parking lot—look for any leaving vehicles. She couldn’t go to her car yet. So she ran back to the line, and hiding behind a group of girls that already seemed rather tipsy, she peeked through them to watch as Matthew appeared barely a second later, breathing heavily as he glanced down both ways of the street and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Somin felt her heart breaking just imagining his trail of thoughts—this was cruel. This was another level of cruel, and Somin knew it was her fault.

 

Suddenly, there was a sound of a scream—a scream that she’d heard just yesterday. Somin had barely snapped her head up to find the source before there was a loud crack, like a single firework—a familiar sound that she placed immediately—and, to her horror, Matthew staggered forward from the force of the gunshot.

 

A circle of red grew on the back of his shoulder, a stark contrast to his grey button-up shirt.

 

Somin moved to clasp her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, but someone else beat her to it.

 

“It wasn’t a coincidence that the bar was this close,” he whispered softly, and Somin knew it would be useless to scream even when he dropped his hand to her neck. To anyone else, it would have looked like they were just a touchy couple. “If only you’d stayed in line, this wouldn’t have had to happen.”

 

And then he was pulling her back around the other side of the bar to get to the car—a crowd was forming around where Matthew had collapsed—Jiwoo was shouting out instructions and people were screaming. The bouncer had given up on his job.

 

“Now, once we get back,” J.Seph started, all but dragging Somin away from the scene. “We can discuss what exactly you were planning to tell Matthew, shall we?”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrieking in angst*


End file.
